


MT's Kinktober 2018

by MercurialTenacity



Series: Kinktober 2018 and Beyond [1]
Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Aphrodisiacs, Begging, Bondage, Boot Worship, Branding, Breast Worship, Cock Warming, Cock Worship, Collars, Corsetry, Crying, Daddy Kink, Degradation, Dirty Talk, Double Penetration, Edgeplay, Exhibitionism, Face-Sitting, Fisting, Frottage, Fucking Machines, Gags, Gun Kink, Hair-pulling, Hand Jobs, Humiliation, Incest, Kinktober 2018, Knifeplay, Licking, Lingerie, Massage, Master/Slave, Medical Kink, Mirror Sex, Multi, Multiple Pairings, Nipple Play, Object Insertion, Omorashi, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Overstimulation, Pegging, Pet Play, Praise Kink, Roleplay, S&M, Scars, Scent Kink, Seduction, Sensory Deprivation, Sex Toys, Sex Work, Size Difference, Sleepy Sex, Sounding, Spanking, Stockings, Telepathy, Temperature Play, Tentacles, Threesome, Uniforms, Wall Sex, Watersports, straitjacket
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-01
Updated: 2018-10-31
Packaged: 2019-07-12 20:52:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 31
Words: 25,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16003091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MercurialTenacity/pseuds/MercurialTenacity
Summary: This work is a compilation of writing forKinktober 2018in the Fantastic Beasts fandom, spanning a broad range of pairings.  Each chapter stands on its own.  The chapter names indicate the pairing and main kinks, and a full list of tags and warnings is given in the summary of each chapter.  Be sure to check those tags before reading!





	1. Gramander - Face-Sitting

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Под покровом милосердной тьмы](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17823284) by [Luchenza](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luchenza/pseuds/Luchenza)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 1 - ~~Deep-Throating | Inflation~~ | Face-Sitting | ~~Masks~~  
>  **No Archive Warnings Apply  
> **  
>  Chapter tags: Newt Scamander/Original Percival Graves, Fluff, Face-Sitting, Established Relationship, Kissing

Newt can tell immediately - it's clear from the way Percival hunches his shoulders as he walks in and takes off his coat, how his eyebrows are drawn low when he sits down and picks up the paper, the distracted way he returns Newt’s kiss.  Percival is grumpy.

He resists all of Newt’s attempts at conversation, picks at his dinner, and won't even let Oscar the Occamy cheer him up.

When they finally retire to bed Percival huffs, pulls the blanket over himself, and rolls to face the wall.  Newt just shakes his head and scoots in next to him, wrapping his arms around his difficult yet adorable husband.

“Ah, love.  Let yourself relax for a moment, hmm?  Don't make yourself miserable.”

“I'm not miserable,” Percival says, and Newt has to hold back a snort of amused disbelief.

“Come here.”  Newt coaxes Percival to roll over, kissing up his neck and jaw until he reaches his stubborn lips.  After a moment Percival relents and lets himself be kissed, even letting himself enjoy it a little.

Just a little.

Newt gives it his all - nibbles on Percival’s earlobe just the way he likes, slides his hand between them to stroke his cock and rub his thumb over the head, fits his hand gently around his throat - all things which on any ordinary day would make Percival melt in his arms and beg, but today only elicit shallow breathing and little groans.  Percival’s mind is still elsewhere.

Newt has had enough.  “Sit up, I want to try something.  You’ll _like it,”_ he says to Percival’s dubious expression.  

He can tell that Percival doesn’t really believe him, but he moves how Newt tells him to all the same; kneeling up near the head of the bed, thighs slightly spread.  “Newt, it’s late,” he starts, breaking off in surprise when Newt lays down on the bed behind him and slides up until his head is situated between his legs. “What - ?”

“Shh,” Newt admonishes, and without further ceremony he grips Percival’s hips and guides him down within reach of his mouth.

The noise Percival makes when Newt presses his tongue to his rim is something between a yelp and a moan.  Newt grins against him, swirling the tip of his tongue against that little opening and enjoying the sounds Percival makes above him.

“Ohh, what - what are you - god, don’t stop -”

Newt has no intention of stopping.  He laves Percival’s hole with long, flat strokes of his tongue, suckling, kissing, licking, on and on until Percival is gripping the headboard for support, thighs shaking as Newt’s wet tongue explores him so intimately.

When Newt presses his tongue up, _in,_ and Percival’s begging trails off into a series of broken moans, he has the satisfaction of knowing he’s well and truly driven the thoughts from his head.


	2. Gramander - Begging, Medical Play, Watersports

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 2 - ~~Ass Worship~~ | Begging | Medical play | Watersports
> 
>  **Rape/Non-Con Elements  
> **  
>  Chapter tags: Dark Newt Scamander, Original Percival Graves, Abduction, Kidnapping, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Medical Kink, Experimentation, Begging, Wetting, Dehumanization, Humiliation

Percival is drowsy when he wakes.  His head is full of a dense fog, causing his thoughts to get lost on the way to their destination, tapering off into nothing before they fully form.

He feels odd.  Or rather, he suspects he does.  It’s hard to tell, because he can’t seem to feel his body properly.  His limbs are heavy and slightly numb, requiring an enormous amount of effort to so much as twitch a muscle.  That seems very unusual, but he drifts away again, exhausted, before he can decide whether or not to be concerned about it.

When he next surfaces the fatigue has cleared somewhat, but the weight on his body has not.  Alarm tugs at the edge of his mind, but for some reason he can’t feel it properly. His heartbeat and breathing continue in the same slow, even rhythm.

With effort he opens his eyes, and when his vision clears he finds himself looking up the wooden beams of a cottage ceiling.

How odd.

His memories are disjointed, but he doesn’t recall being in a cottage.  No, he was… he was with his team, wasn’t he? They were investigating… something.  The effort to think of it makes his head pound.

He lies there a while longer, blinking at the ceiling, before it occurs to him he might like to look around the rest of the room.  He rolls his head to the side, but the sight which greets him doesn’t make his situation any clearer. The room is an eclectic clutter of potion bottles, books, parchment scraps, shelves stacked full of all manner of unidentifiable supplies and tables piled with delicate looking equipment.  In the middle of it all is a young man, sitting in his shirtsleeves with his red hair in a tousle as he scratches away with a quill.

Percival watches him write for a while, absently taking in his bowtie and freckled cheeks.  Perhaps this man knows how he got here.

After some time he seems to finish his notes, setting down his quill and rolling up the parchment, replacing it atop a stack on his desk.  He stretches, stands, and when he turns he notices Percival watching him.

“Ah!  Wonderful,” he says, though he doesn’t seem to be talking to Percival.  He makes a hasty grab for a notebook from his desk, flipping through pages as he approaches Percival’s beside.  “That’s…” he checks a tarnished pocket watch, snapping it closed again with a click. “...three hours.” He makes a note in the book. “Let’s get a look at you.”  Fingers press against his pulse point, taking the measure of him before Percival can get his wits about him to protest. “Depressed respiratory system…” Another note scribbled down.  “Let’s check your pupil dilation.”

“What?” Percival manages at last.  “What are you… where?”

The man pauses.  “We’re quite safe.  Tell me what you remember.”

Percival frowns, thinking.  He’d been with his team. They’d been on an assignment, something dangerous, not the usual mission.  It was urgent, he knows that. There’d been a… “Dragon?”

“A nesting mother.  You shouldn’t have gone near her, Eastern Greys are endangered.”  The man’s expression has darkened, and the alarm playing around Percival’s mind grows stronger.

“Too close… to the town.”

“No, the town was too close to the dragon.  What’s your name?”

“Graves.  Auror Percival Graves.”

“Merlin knows what you would have done if I hadn’t been there.”  The man looks away again, turning to retrieve something from the bedside table.

Percival’s mind churns.  Something must have gone terribly wrong with the assignment - had they even made it to the dragon?  Or had this man intercepted them? He has no memory of how he got here, only a growing certainty that if he stays it’s at his own peril.  He has to find a way to leave - the heaviness in his body isn’t natural.

“What’d you do to me?”

“Just this.”  Between his fingers the man holds a small vial of dark purple liquid, and Percival’s stomach goes cold.  “I figured out how to extract the venom, but I didn’t have a way to test it. I must say, the effects are already quite profound.”  He notices Percival’s distress, and shakes his head. “It’s for the best. I can’t have aurors running around hunting dragons.”

He’s been poisoned.  He’s been poisoned by a mad dragon enthusiast, oh god -

“It’s time to administer the next dose, hold still.”

“No, stop - please, don’t do this, I can’t - I - for the love of Merlin,  _ please!” _

His pleas make no difference.  The man leans in, pinches his nose shut, and pours the contents of the vial down his throat while Percival is unable to lift a hand to stop him.

His vision swims, his grasp on his surroundings becoming tenuous.

“No… I didn’t - s-stop this, please…”

He hears papers shuffling, then groans at a sudden full body chill as the blanket covering him is yanked away.  He notices with a detached interest that it leaves him naked.

“I’m going to examine you, please be quiet now.”

Percival has little choice but to obey.  The protests he tries to voice get lost before they leave his lips, swept away by the drug.

The man inspects and documents every inch of him, checking everything from his heartbeat to whether he can raise his left arm.  He can’t, it turns out - the best he can manage is a weak twitch, which is quickly noted down. His hands find Percival’s torso, palpating his abdomen, his stomach - and then pressing down sharply on his lower belly.

It takes Percival a moment to understand what the warmth between his legs means, and why his thighs feel wet.  When it clicks into place he feels sickened, whimpering something that sounds like  _ oh god, _ but he can’t stop.  He can’t do anything but lay there as he pisses himself.

“Pronounced lack of muscle control,” the man mutters.  He presses down again, and though Percival wills it not to happen with everything he has, his bladder leaks a few last drops of piss to add to the puddle in the bed.  “Interesting.”

There's nothing Percival can do but sob.


	3. Thesival - Sensory Deprivation, Temperature Play, Edgeplay, Knife Play

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 3 - Sensory Deprivation | Temperature Play | Edgeplay | Knife Play
> 
>  **No Archive Warnings Apply  
> **  
>  Chapter tags: Theseus Scamander/Original Percival Graves, Knife Play, Blood, Blindfolds, Sensory Deprivation, Edgeplay, Disorientation, BDSM, Begging, Temperature Play, Aftercare

Percival knows nothing of his surroundings.  He’s been blindfolded, deafened, led barefoot and shirtless and forced to kneel on the hard floor.  There’s someone here with him, but he can’t tell much more than that - soft footsteps don’t penetrate his ear plugs, he can see nothing, not even shadows, and with his hands bound he can’t reach out.

He can only wait.

His knees have begun to ache, his thoughts to spiral, and still he’s forced to wait.

“What do you want from me?” he cries, his voice strangely muffled to his own ears.

Perhaps he’s alone now.  The person who brought him here has long since left, abandoned him to whatever it is that’s to be done with him.  He’s shouting at an empty room.

Hours or seconds could have passed, he doesn’t know, but when the touch falls on the back of his neck he jolts so badly he nearly topples over - would have, were it not for the strong hands hauling him back into place.  

He hadn’t know there was anyone behind him; how long had they been there, watching him?

“What do you want?”

He doesn’t truly expect a response, and he doesn’t get one.

Instead he gets a cold edge of steel against his cheek.  

He goes very, very still.  The flat of the blade drags along his jaw, vanishing only to reappear again a moment later with the point pressed to his pectoral.

He tries to control his shallow breathing, each inhale making his chest press up against the blade and sting, but he feels as though he’s starved for air.  He can’t settle himself, can’t quiet the pounding of his heart.

“ _ Please,” _ he whispers, too quietly for himself to hear.

The tip of the knife parts his flesh, and he flinches back violently.  He earns himself only a moment’s reprieve, for the next thing he knows there’s someone behind him, pressed close against his back, and the knife is once more against his skin.  He’s trapped between the blade and the body of the person doing this to him.

There’s nothing he can do as the knife is dragged through his skin, leaving a series of shallow cuts which sting and prickle with pain.  He clenches his jaw. Something warm and wet is running down his chest and he knows he must be bleeding.

It becomes a glow which surrounds him, suffusing his body and scorching his nerves until he can’t tell where he’s been cut for the haze of pain.  Each new slice delivered onto his flesh only takes him farther away, pulling groans from him as it adds to the blanket of torment being woven across his flesh.

His mind goes softly, blissfully, blank.

Eventually he’s wrenched back to awareness by a different kind of burn, and it takes him a moment to place what’s being done to him.

His nipples hurt, but not from the knife.  No, there’s something running down his chest, not blood - something cold.

Ice.  There’s ice being held to his nipples, long enough to burn but not enough to go numb.  He’s meant to feel this.

It’s cruel; ice on his cuts might quiet the pain, but this only brings him back to himself and forces him to be aware.  He trembles. The pain isn’t a soft haze anymore, it’s digging into him and it hurts, it hurts,  _ it hurts. _

A sob is torn from his chest, and his blindfold is wet with tears.

The ice vanishes and there are warm hands on his shoulders, a firm torso against his back.  One of the hands squeezes his upper arm, and he knows it’s almost over.

The earplugs and the blindfold are eased away, revealing a room kept dim so as not to assault his senses after so long in the dark.  He doesn’t try to stop his sobs, just leans back against the person behind him and lets himself be held.

“I’ve got you, pup,” Theseus murmurs.  “I’ve got you.”

Theseus just holds him, right there on the floor, carefully avoiding putting any pressure on the cuts while he strokes the rest of his unmarred skin.  Percival’s breathing slows, steadies, and he cries himself out against Theseus’ shoulder.

By the time he has no more tears left to give he’s exhausted, his head stuffy, and so utterly at peace.

“There you are, Perce.  Take it easy.” Theseus helps him to stand, leading him to the bedroom where he has a bowl a fresh water and bandages for Percival’s wounds prepared.  He cleans him up, settles him in, and when he climbs into bed beside him Percival pulls him in close, snuggling into his arms.

“How was it?”

“So good, Thes,” he mumbles sleepily.  “‘s perfect.”


	4. Greenie - Spanking, Mirror Sex, Crying

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 4 - Spanking | Mirror Sex | ~~Spit-roasting~~ | Dacryphilia (Crying)
> 
>  **Rape/Non-Con  
> **  
>  Chapter tags: Queenie Goldstein/Original Percival Graves, Dark Original Percival Graves, Rape/Non-Con Elements, Non-Consensual Touching, Mirrors, Spanking, Crying, Telepathy, Gendered Slurs

“Watch.”

Queenie opens her eyes, swallowing hard as she gazes down at the floor.  The sounds of the gala are muffled through the bedroom door, but she can still hear them; the band playing, people laughing, blissfully ignorant of everything.

Graves’ thumb tilts her chin up, forcing her to meet her own gaze in the full length mirror in front of them.  Her eyes are red with unshed tears, her dress glittering and beautiful and far too revealing - too short and showing too much cleavage for where she stands with Graves’ hand spread across her stomach.  He frames her in the mirror, his dark suit the perfect elegant outline to her trembling figure.

“I want you to watch as I undress you,” he whispers in her ear, the hint of his stubble scratching against her cheek.

_ Answer me, bitch, _ she hears him think, and she bites back a whimper and nods.

“Yes, sir.”

“That’s my good girl.”  His voice is sweet like honey.

She watches the flush spread across her cheeks as Graves parts her zipper, biting her lip not to cry when cool air hits her back and his palm caresses the curve of her spine.

Her pale skin is slowly revealed in the mirror; first when Graves slips her sleeve off her shoulder, then her, stomach, her his, her thighs, until the dress is a beautiful pile at her feet.  Her bra joins it, its support quickly replaced with the squeeze of Graves’ hands.

His massage is gentle, touching her like a lover might.  She watches his hands cup her breasts, fingers ghosting over her skin and circling her areola, tracing circles that make her shiver until he rubs his thumbs over her pink nipples.  She watches them pebble up beneath his touch - the tangible evidence of her body’s arousal. She can’t hold back the tears of shame.

_ I’m going to fuck you raw. _

“No, please -” she twists in his arms, pulling out of his grip as she turns towards him, to implore him not to do this, to please, please let her go -

She yelps when his hand fists tight into her hair, mussing her perfect curls.

“Please sir, I - I ain’t never - just let me go, I won’t tell nobody.”

“I’ll be gentle with you, doll, don’t fret.”   _ I’ll make you scream. _

Queenie reels back, horrified at the images she sees in his mind - “Oh, please no -” only to be yanked in close again by the hand in her hair.

_ Whore.  You’ll know your place before I’m done with you. _

Graves hauls her over to the bed, his face impassive as he lays her out across his thighs, her ass up in the air.  She hears a seam tear when he tugs her panies down, leaving her exposed and naked in his lap, sobbing in earnest now.

He pats her ass, and even though she knows what he’s going to do she can’t brace for the pain.

_ “Ahh!” _  The place his palm struck her burns, the skin tight and stinging and hot beneath his hand, and despite her struggles he holds her down.

“If you were good I wouldn’t have to hurt you.”  _  I’ve been wanting to hurt you for so long. _

He hits her again, again, and she screams for each one.

She catches her own gaze from the corner of her eye, and her blotchy, tearstained face as she’s spanked haunts her.


	5. Gradence - S&M

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 5 - ~~Feet~~ | Sadism/Masochism | ~~Feederism | Shotgunning~~
> 
>  **No Archive Warnings Apply  
> **  
>  Chapter tags: Credence Barebone/Original Percival Graves, AU - Modern Setting, Religion, BDSM, BDSM Clubs, Anonymous, Impact Play, Light Bondage, Safe Sane Consenual

Credence has needs.  It’s not his fault, he didn’t choose it.  If he could stay at home and study the bible in the evenings without crawling out of his skin he would, but he can’t, and the longer he tries to the worse the itch gets.

That’s why he’s in the club, shirtless, about to be beaten raw.  He can’t, can’t,  _ can’t _ have anyone knowing he’s here, which is why he chose the smallest, darkest, underground club he could find.  For the six months he’s been coming here it’s done him good.

He holds his wrists out, ready to be bound.  

The person he’s here to do a scene with is an older man, perhaps in his forties; he wears his hair slicked back, and though he’s not particularly tall he’s strong and fit, always dressed a little too sharply for this sort of place.  He calls himself the Director - no one here uses real names, it wouldn’t even occur to anyone to ask.

He ties Credence’s wrists securely, helping him up onto the padded table and laying him out on his stomach, anchoring his wrists above his head and binding his ankles down next.

Credence’s stomach flutters.  The anticipation is almost the hardest part; even though he knows he wants this, he knows what’s coming, he still manages to get nervous.

The Director rests a hand on his back.  “Breathe for me.” His voice is low and familiar.  Comforting. “Tell me when you’re ready.”

Credence closes his eyes and does as he’s told, settling himself under that touch.  He’s ready. He wants this.

“Please, sir.  Will you hit me?”


	6. Grindelbone - Daddy, Corsets, Cock Worship

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 6: Daddy | Corset | Cock Worship | ~~Biting~~
> 
>  **Rape/Non-Con  
> **  
>  Chapter tags: Credence Barebone/Gellert Grindelwald, Rape, Non-Consensual Body Modification, (Past) Castration, Forced Feminization, Daddy Kink, Blowjobs, Cock Worship

Credence makes a tiny gasp, the air rushing from his lungs all at once as his waist is constricted.  It’s been a few weeks since Grindelwald decided it was time to start waist training, but Credence still isn’t used to that sudden shock when he’s laced back into his corset after bathing.  Daddy always does it tighter than the time before, using magic to cinch the strings and tie them in unsolvable knots.

Credence looks down at himself, running his hands over his trim waist and marveling a little at the shape he makes.  He’s come so far, maybe he won’t need his lower ribs removed after all; the thought makes him a little nervous, it sounds harder than when Daddy took his balls.  Daddy seems pleased with his progress, though - even when he’s naked his curves are already starting to show.

“Come here, you pretty little thing,” Grindelwald says from where he reclines in his armchair, looking Credence up and down with a glint in his eye.  Credence blushes. He’s naked other than his corset, and having Daddy’s eyes on him always makes him squirm.

Credence turns to stand in front of him, hoping he’s in the mood to play.  He so wants to be played with. 

He glances up from beneath his eyelashes just in time to see Grindelwald’s gaze rake over him from top to bottom.  “That’s my good girl. On your knees.”

He does as he’s told, sinking down to kneel on the carpet, back straight,  and crawling in between Grindelwald’s spread thighs. There’s a bulge in his Daddy’s trousers and oh, he bites his lip just thinking about it.  

“Go on,” Grindelwald urges.  Credence doesn’t need any more prompting.  He nuzzles against that bulge, pressing kisses to it as his fingers work the fastenings, gently parting the fabric to reveal Grindelwald’s erection.

Credence just stares for a moment, close enough to go cross eyed looking at the head.  He’s transfixed by that cock; it’s so wide, roped with veins, and as he watches a bead of precome wells up from the tip.  Credence ducks in and licks it away, prompting a groan from Daddy.

Without hesitation Credence swallows down the length of his cock, quickly fucking himself until it’s coated in thick saliva; Daddy’s favorite lube.  Once it’s wet enough that he’s drooling down his chin Credence pulls back, placing little kisses and kitten licks down his shaft from the head to the base.

Daddy is moaning, head tipped back while he murmurs things like  _ “Good girl, good - oh, good slut,” _ one hand cupping the back of Credence’s head, and he’s so proud to make Daddy feel this good.

He buries his nose in the thick hair at Grindelwald’s crotch so that he can kiss his balls, suckling gently while he wraps his hand around his cock and rubs at the head with his thumb.  That makes Daddy’s thighs shake, and Credence feels warm all over, his own flaccid cock drooling between his legs.

He just hopes that after Daddy comes he’ll still fuck his pussy before bed.


	7. Scamandercest - Praise, Aphrodisiacs, Incest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 7 - Praise-kink | ~~Body Swap~~ | Aphrodisiacs | Incest
> 
>  **Rape/Non-Con, Underage  
> **  
>  Chapter tags:Newt Scamander/Theseus Scamander, Sibling Incest, Extremely Underage, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Cuddling & Snuggling, Manipulation, Praise Kink, Kissing

Theseus has his baby brother all to himself.  Everything in his life is falling into place, and oh, this is the cherry on top of it all.

He has another three weeks before he starts at the ministry, and what better way to spend it than with his family, home for the summer one last time?  

His parents had been glad to have him - his mother especially - but tonight it’s just him and Newt.  After much reassuring from Theseus that he really didn’t mind, not one bit, his mother and father had left for a two day business trip to London.

And Theseus really doesn’t mind.  Not one bit.

He couldn’t possibly mind taking care of Newt, because Newt is lovely.  He’s clever and excitable and delicate in his own way, so compassionate and curious about the world.  So small, and so soft. He looks just like an angel with those big eyes of his.

And the best part is, Newt adores his big brother.

Theseus makes Newt a very special mug of hot cocoa, smiling when his eyes light up at the treat.  After he’s drunk it all down Theseus puts on the radio and Newt happily accepts the invitation to climb into his lap, snuggling down against him with the unselfconsciousness only a child possesses.

It’s impossible to concentrate on the radio with Newt’s warm body pressed so close to him, squirming every now and then to get comfortable.  Theseus wraps his arms around him, prompting a happy sound from Newt, and buries his nose in his soft, clean hair. He smells like childhood, and it’s intoxicating.

Theseus knows he has to move slowly until the drug takes effect - he doesn’t want to frighten Newt, and the last thing he wants is to spend the evening consoling a crying six-year-old.  So he starts carefully, just rubbing a hand up and down Newt’s back, getting him accustomed to the touch before letting his fingertips find the strip of exposed skin where his shirt has ridden up.  Newt giggles like it tickles, so Theseus presses his palm flat to give him a deeper touch.

It isn’t long before his breathing becomes shallow, and he starts to squirm like he just can’t sit still.  “‘M too hot, Thes,” he mumbles, and god, could he be any more perfect?

“Yeah?  Okay baby, c’mere.”  Theseus shifts Newt on his lap, sitting him upright so he can get to his shirt buttons.  “Let’s cool you off a bit.”

Newt lets himself be undressed, too young to know he shouldn’t.  His eyes are glassy, his rosy cheeks brightly flushed, and when Theseus gets his shirt off he sucks in a breath to see how that flush extends all the way to his tiny, pink nipples.

Now that he’s gotten a taste he just needs to see more, and he makes Newt move so he can strip his pants and underwear off too, leaving him with a lapful of naked little boy.

“Baby, you’re beautiful.”  He means it. Theseus takes it all in; his body is still chubby with baby fat, everything so small and just the right size to fit in Theseus’ hands.  His lips, so plump and inviting. His little hands, grasping at Theseus’ shirt. And god, his tiny cock standing up proud between his legs.

Newt follows his gaze, and he frowns.  “Why’s it doing that?”

“Because you’re happy,” Theseus answers, unable to pry his eyes away.  “Here, see? Mine is too.”

Curiously Newt looks to Theseus’ crotch, taking in the growing bulge there.  With a little encouragement he reaches out one hand to feel it, and Theseus hisses through his teeth.

He’s had enough.  He quickly shucks off his own clothes, keeping Newt as close as he can while he does it, bringing him in to lay skin to skin against his chest, his baby brother settled right over his dick.

“That’s it, you’re such a good boy.”

Newt is quickly losing the plot, Theseus can tell.  His breathing is quick, head lolling against Theseus’ shoulder as he mumbles something with those cute lips, arms draped limply around his neck.

Theseus can scarcely decide where to start.  He squeezes Newt’s round bottom, fingers digging into the flesh, but he can’t ignore that sweet little mouth - Newt is drooling a little, his lips glistening, and Theseus quickly yields to the temptation they offer.  He can’t pass up the opportunity to take his little brother’s first kiss.

Newt doesn’t know what to do when Theseus’ lips meet his own, but eventually Theseus coaxes his way inside that little mouth.  He tastes so good, and Theseus swallows down each little whimper, he suckles on his lips, presses his tongue deep inside, exploring him and savoring every moment.

His cock twitches against Newt, and he thanks the stars for giving him such a perfect baby brother.


	8. Gradence - Sex Work, Fisting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 8 - ~~Blood/Gore~~ | Prostitution/Sex Work | Fisting | ~~Hate-fucking/Angry Sex~~
> 
>  **Rape/Non-Con  
> **  
>  Chapter tags: Original Percival Graves/Credence Barebone, Gellert Grindelwald (Mentioned), Verbal Humiliation, Degradation, Objectification, Coercion, Sex Work, Fisting, Anal Gaping, Dissociation

“Oh, oh fuck -”

Credence jerks as fingers slide back inside him, squelching with the come and lube already coating his insides.  His rim is already lax, he’d been pounded so hard it made him dizzy, but he’d thought he was done. He thought he’d get to rest now, before the next customer was sent in.  If Mr. Grindelwald tries to send the next customer in and Credence is still being used -

“You can’t… you - you have to ask Mr. Grindelwald before you -”

There’s a resounding smack as the man - what had Grindelwald called him, Graves? - brings his hand down hard across Credence’s ass.

“You stupid whore.  I paid Gellert for your ass - I paid to fuck it, and I paid to break it.  Now be a good fag and hold still so I can get my money’s worth.”

Credence whimpers when a fourth finger slides into him, but he does as he’s told.  It’s not the first time Grindelwald has given him to a customer without telling him what was bought, and the punishment for denying Graves something he purchased would be far worse than for giving away services for free.

He spreads his thighs wider in acceptance, and has to bite his lip when Graves tries to force his knuckles past his rim.  It hurts, fuck, he’s loose but he’s not that loose. He isn’t sure if he dares ask Graves to go slower; for all he knows he’d do the exact opposite as a punishment.  Credence bites at the thin pillow, putting all his concentration into not tensing up.

To his enormous relief Graves pulls back slightly, giving up on the shoving and switching to scissoring his fingers inside Credence’s ass.  It still burns, but it’s bearable, and he sucks in a shuddery breath while he can.

It isn’t much, but it’s enough that when Graves next tries to push inside his fingers fit up to the knuckle.

“Yeah, that’s a good fag.  It’s going in one way or another, best to just enjoy it.”

Credence knows he’s right.  If he tears he won’t be able to work for days while he heals, and if he doesn’t work, he doesn’t eat.  He has to earn his keep.

“Yes sir,” he mumbles, and does his best to push so that Graves has an easier time getting inside.

All too soon Graves shifts, tucking his thumb in with the rest of his fingers, and Credence whimpers as he clutches at the sheets, panic rising in his throat.

“Too big!” he cries.  “Too big, too big -”

Graves rotates his wrist, rocking it up and down almost gently, and Credence can feel his body start to yield.  His muscles give up, finally going fully lax as Graves slides his hand all the way inside.

_ “Ohhh…” _  He’s speared so deeply.  He can feel Graves’ fingers moving inside him and he wants to cry, but the tears don’t come.

“Such a tight hole, fuck.”

He rocks his fist inside Credence’s body, punching in a little deeper and forcing his rim to stretch around his knuckles each time he thrusts.  Credence just takes it, there’s nothing else he can do; he lays there as Graves builds up a rhythm, concentrating on making his ass a nice, pleasing place for him to put his hand.

Time blurs, and eventually it isn’t such a stretch anymore.

When Graves finally finishes with him his hole is gaping open, twitching around nothing.  He just lays there for a moment - eyes glassy and breathing shallow - before he tries to close up.

He can’t.

He doesn’t seem able to react.  Everything is numb, except his hole, which is empty.

“Yeah, look at that.  That little slut hole will never be the same.”  Graves stands, and Credence feels his weight lift off the mattress.  “Not such a bad whore after all, you let me ruin you in the end.”

He’s ruined.  Will anyone even want to fuck him like this?  Will Grindelwald still be able to sell him?

Graves kneels in front of him, meeting his fuzzy gaze.

“I think you deserve a little tip.”  He flips open his wallet, glancing through it and pulling out a single dollar bill, which he crumples in his fist.  With an awful smirk, he pushes it against Credence’s lips. “Open up.”

Credence does.  Graves tucks the wad of paper inside, and presses one finger under his chin to close his mouth again.  Credence watches him stand. Graves takes in the length of his naked body and bends to spread his ass open one last time, chuckling and shaking his head at the sight.

“I sure wrecked you.”

His footsteps retreat across the room, the door creaking open and slamming behind him.


	9. Goldgraves - Bondage, Lingerie, Titfucking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 9 - Titfucking | ~~Sthenolagnia (Strength/Muscles)~~ | Bondage | Lingerie
> 
>  **No Archive Warnings Apply  
> **  
>  Chapter tags: Tina Goldstein/Original Percival Graves, Bondage, BDSM, Gags, Titfucking, Orgasm Delay/Denial

Tina shifts, testing her bonds.  They’re quite secure, of course; Graves would never settle for anything less.  The soft rope presses into her skin without chafing, binding her arms tightly behind her back, wrist to opposite elbow, forcing her to sit up straight and push her chest out.  She’s bound at the knees and ankles as well, and a rope running up her back and connected at her arms keeps her kneeling. Helpless, in just her bra and panties.

She glares at Graves across the room; he’s reclining easily, tie loose around his neck and feet propped up while he pages through the evening paper, and she wants to tell him to  _ hurry up and come play with her all ready, it isn’t fair, she’s so wet and she can’t touch,  _ but she can’t - the ring gag he’d placed between her teeth means all she can do is sit there and drool on her tits.

At long last he folds the paper and stands, stretching, before turning to face her.

“Fuck, sweetheart, you’re just gorgeous like that.”

“Ahh,” Tina replies, and Graves chuckles at her plight.

“Okay, okay,” he says, holding his hands up.  “I won’t make you wait any longer, come here.”

Tina just glares at him.  He knows she can’t.

He just looks at her expectantly, and she’s forced to squirm and wriggle against the rope, not able to move an inch and succeeding only in demonstrating how helpless she is.

“What’s wrong, baby?”

“Ahh!”

“Do you need help?”

Blushing furiously, Tina nods.  She can tell Graves is enjoying himself far too much.

He crouches in front of her, pulling her slightly forward by the rope looped over her shoulders, and with his other hand he caresses her waist.  Tina moans, leaning into it as much as she can.

“What to do with you…”  He snakes a hand between her legs, dipping into her wetness and making her tense and spasm with the tingles of pleasure it brings.  “Do you want me to play with that slutty pussy?”

Tina nods desperately, moaning.

“Oh, but I’d have to untie you for that.  And you look so pretty like this sweetheart, it would be a shame.”

“Ah - Aah!”

“It’s okay, I don’t mind if your pussy doesn’t get touched.  You’ve got other parts, let’s see.”

Tina makes a desperate cry when he takes his hand away, but Graves takes no notice.  Instead he runs his hands up her sides, cupping her breasts in his warm palms. He squeezes, and Tina’s eyes flutter as her chest fills with heat.

“Yeah, these are nice.  So firm and soft, your tits are so sexy.”

Tina makes a small, unhappy sound when Graves’ hands leave her, but it’s just to unhook the front clasp on her bra.  Once it’s out of the way he comes right back, giving her hard nipples a quick pinch before returning to groping and massaging her.  Her pussy tingles with unmet need, but the warmth in her breasts feels so good it’s hard to complain.

After a few too-short moments he stands, working on his belt buckle.  “I don’t think I can wait anymore, baby. Make it good for me, okay?”

When Graves takes out his cock he’s already hard, precome glistening at the tip, and Tina feels a rush of wetness between her thighs at the sight.  She so wants that cock inside her, opening her up and pressing in just right -

Graves steps forward, cupping her tits and nestling his cock right in between them, lifting them to form a channel for his cock.  He ruts against her, the slide eased by the saliva coating her breasts.

“Oh, yeah, that’s perfect sweetheart.”

His thrusts pick up speed, and soon he’s fucking her in earnest, squeezing her tits to provide a tighter channel for his cock groaning with how good it must feel.  Tina can only let him use her, in envy of the pleasure on his face.

When he comes he splatters her chin, her shoulders, her tits, while she just rocks desperately in search of friction against her clit.

Graves sighs contentedly, wiping his cock off on her breast.

“See, baby?  That was so much better than fucking your pussy.”


	10. Seraqueenie - Hair Pulling, Telepathy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 10 - Hair-pulling | ~~Waxplay | Micro/Macro~~ | Bonds (Telepathic or Empathic)
> 
>  **No Archive Warnings Apply  
> **  
>  Chapter tags: Seraphina Picquery/Queenie Goldstein, BDSM, Legilimency, Kissing, Nipple Play, Hair Pulling

Queenie smiles to herself as she walks down the hall.  She’d heard the president’s summons this morning, clear as a bell, and all day since then she’s been  _ waiting. _  Now, finally, most of MACUSA has gone home.  The halls are dark and empty, the desks deserted, and a heavy blanket of silence has settled over the building.

Woolworth is never truly empty - there are always a few people pulling a late shift, depriving themselves of their beds in an effort to best a never ending stream of work - but it’s empty enough to suit their purpose.  Anyone left either knows to be discrete, or has had too many cups of coffee to notice much beyond their own work anyway.

Queenie knocks on the door to the president’s office, entering when she feels her relief at her arrival.

“Queenie,” Seraphina says warmly, rising from her desk with a weary smile which only Queenie ever gets to see, and sending the parchment she’d been studying to stack itself on a shelf.   _ How does she still look like a beam of sunlight? _ Queenie hears.   _ She’s effortless. _

Queenie giggles, closing the door behind herself and stepping into Seraphina’s waiting arms.  Her lips are soft, hungry, and Queenie can feel a long day of stress - a long week, a long month - easing away as their tongues flick against each other.  Seraphina relaxes against her, pulling her in close with an arm around her waist and a hand in her hair, taking gentle control.

Seraphina’s fingers find a grip in her hair, tugging to guide the kiss.  Queenie feels her little pang of regret to mess her perfect curls, but it’s overshadowed by an even stronger sense of satisfaction when Queenie yields to follow her hand.  

Seraphina is gentle but firm, moving Queenie how she wants and showing her where to best place her kisses.  Queenie doesn’t need Seraphina’s hand in her hair to know, not really, but she can feel how much Seraphina loves to have that control; and it makes Queenie herself tingle, feeling the gentle pull against her scalp, having her head guided.

She nibbles down Seraphina’s neck, nimble fingers making quick work of her buttons in time for Seraphina to press her to her breast, moaning when Queenie takes her nipple into her mouth.  She licks and suckles, lavishing attention on her breasts until after long minutes Seraphina pulls her back.

She sits up on her own desk, pushing Queenie’s head between her thighs, and oh - Queenie’s been waiting for this  _ all day. _


	11. Grindelgraves - Object Insertion, Sounding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 11 - Object Insertion | Sounding | ~~Cross-dressing | Tribadism/Scissoring~~
> 
>  **Rape/Non-Con  
> **  
>  Chapter tags: Gellert Grindelwald/Original Percival Graves, Bondage, Sounding, Fingering, Object Insertion, Begging, Humiliation

“No, you - you bastard, for Merlin’s sake, stop!”

Grindelwald does not stop.  He presses his fingers deeper inside, seeming to take pleasure from Graves’ hopeless struggles.  He can’t get away, he can barely even move; Grindelwald has him trussed up at the edge of the sofa, stuck on his back and nearly folded in half, leaving both his ass and cock fully accessible.  Grindelwald has taken full advantage of the position - a shiny metal rod already gleams in the tip of Graves’ cock, impaling him and fucking his cock as his muscles contract around the fingers in his ass.  Graves had screamed when it went in, and Grindelwald had grinned like the devil.

“Oh pet,” he says, scissoring his fingers.  “We’ve hardly begun.”

Graves opens his mouth to curse Grindelwald to hell and back, but all he can manage is a moan.

Grindelwald works him open mercilessly, steadily, and just slow enough to make it feel  _ good. _  He can’t help getting absorbed in the rhythm of having his insides stretched, it’s not his fault that his mind starts to drift.

Eventually Grindelwald’s fingers leave him, and he isn’t sure if he’s relieved or disappointed.  He doesn’t have time to ponder it - Grindelwald is inspecting his cock, gripping the end of the sound and slowly,  _ slowly, _ sliding that unforgiving metal out of him.

Graves trembles, overworked muscles giving out as he sags against his bonds, but his respite is short lived.  The next sound Grindelwald teases around his slit is thicker, heavier, and as it sinks into him Graves thinks he might die. 

But his body takes it, opening up all too willingly.

He jolts when something cool presses past his rim, spreading his ass open around something smooth, cold, and unforgiving.  He looks down in shock, a wave of nausea washing through him when he sees - the vase from the end table is halfway inside him, sticking out obscenely and stretching him open where its slim neck flares out into a wide base.  Grindelwald has a look of determination on his face, watching Graves’ muscles shudder and twitch as his body adjusts to accommodate the intrusion.

Grindelwald fucks it in into him until he’s loose and sloppy, only pausing occasionally to switch his sound out for a bigger one.  After one such interruption he pulls the vase out entirely, leaving him uncomfortably empty while he leans to reach for something Graves can’t see.

When Grindelwald settles back between his legs he’s holding a wine bottle, and Graves has a horrible moment of pure terror before his vision dissolves into darkness, falling numb to the world.


	12. Crewt - Licking, Pet Play

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 12 - Licking | Pet Play | ~~Rimming/Analingus | Costume~~
> 
>  **No Archive Warnings Apply  
> **  
>  Chapter tags: Newt Scamander/Credence Barebone, Pet Play, Enthusiastic Consent, Aphasia, Licking

Credence can barely sleep for the excitement.  He has to sleep, he knows that, and he tries to calm himself down, but he tosses and turns with anticipation all night.  He just can’t wait until morning, because in the morning he gets to wake up as Newt’s pet.

It’s a game they’ve played before, many times - but this time is special.  This time, Newt has finally found the spell Credence has been craving ever since he confided what he wanted to Newt three months ago, and learned it might be possible.  It’s taken this long to find the right one, to make sure they were certain of every detail, for Newt to practice until he could do the charm and counter-charm effortlessly, and now, finally, it’s time.

When Credence wakes in the morning he won’t be able to understand a word that’s said to him, just like all the rest of Newt’s creatures.  It makes his cock twitch just thinking about it. To be that helpless, that dependant, that his most human ability - his capacity for language - is taken for the day… he’ll truly be a pet, not a person anymore.

They’d planned it meticulously to make sure they each knew what to expect, that it wouldn’t be overwhelming for Credence; he even had hand signals to use if he wanted Newt to reverse the spell, or to stop something he was doing.  Newt had insisted they take every precaution, and as much as Credence wanted to try it soon, as soon as they could, he has to admit Newt had been right to insist. What they’re doing is new, a completely different level than anything they’ve tried before.

Still, as Credence finally drifts off to sleep, his anticipation far overpowers any nerves.

He wakes to gentle sun spilling through the window and the soft sounds of other creatures.  He blinks sleepily, looking up from his cushion in the corner to see Newt already dressed and moving around the cottage, preparing breakfast for all the case’s occupants.  Credence watches him for a moment before Newt realizes he’s awake, and when he does he sets down the bucket he’d been filling and smiles, crossing the room to crouch in front of Credence.

Usually Newt doesn’t come to Credence until the middle of his rounds, treating him just like he would any other creature, but today they’d agreed it would be best if he checked on Credence first.

He pets Credence’s head, and he nuzzles into it when he scratches behind his ear.  He looks down at Credence, eyes twinkling, and says… something.

Credence blinks up at him.  Newt repeats himself, slowly, but though Credence knows he must be saying something like  _ good morning, _ it is completely unintelligible.  For all he knows Newt isn’t even saying real words; it just sounds like nonsense.

He can’t suppress a grin, and Newt smiles back at him.  He gives Newt the hand sign they’d agreed meant  _ keep going, _ just in case he was worried, and Newt seems happy to do so.  He says something else, soft and affectionate, and gives Credence the opportunity to lick his hand.

Credence nuzzles against him again and darts his tongue out to taste Newt’s fingers, lapping at them in his own morning greeting.  He curls his tongue around his fingertips, eyes sliding shut as he sinks down into the bliss of not thinking.

Newt strokes his head one last time before returning to his morning work.  Credence watches from his cushion as he finishes preparing breakfast. When he swings the front door open Credence stretches, letting his blanket slide off as he follows Newt onto the porch and finds a spot to curl up as he attends to the other residents of the case.  Newt talks to everybody as he feeds them, and Credence lets the stream of sounds wash over him.

It makes him feel simple, not to understand.  Slow and diminished, and so very aroused. 

He can already tell - it is going to be a very good day.


	13. Grindelnewt - Gags, Distracted Sex

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 13 - ~~Weight Gain~~ | Distant/Distracted Sex | Gags | ~~Creampie~~
> 
>  **Rape/Non-Con  
> **  
>  Chapter tags: Gellert Grindelwald/Newt Scamander, Sexual Slavery, Master/pet, Blowjobs, Gags, Humiliation, Distant/Distracted Sex, Deepthroating

Newt works his tongue, doing his best to please his master’s cock from his position between his thighs.  Above his head, pages rustle as Grindelwald flips through the evening paper. Every now and then he shifts, making a noise of appreciation when Newt does something particularly clever or skillful with his tongue, so he prays he isn’t disappointed.  He couldn’t bear that, he’s doing everything he can - he’s been trying so hard, licking and suckling, but Grindelwald is still only half hard in his mouth, and the memory of the last time he was displeased with his performance is still seared into his mind.

He ignores the persistent ache in his jaw around the ring gag.  The gag helps him be quiet and pleasing, so he’s grateful to his master for giving it to him.  The only sounds which come out of him are little gulps and gurgles as he fucks himself on Grindelwald’s cock, and Grindelwald said he likes hearing those sounds, so it’s okay.

He takes Grindelwald to the root, burying his nose in the coarse hair at the base of his cock and holding himself there.  He’s rewarded by a hand absent mindedly stroking through his hair.

When the need to breath becomes overpowering he pulls back, just far enough to pull in deep, gasping breaths through his nose.  Drool spills around his gag, dripping over his chin, but it’s fine because Grindelwald likes it when he makes a pathetic, slutty mess of himself.

He gets a pat on the head before Grindelwald reaches back up to turn the page, and Newt takes him deep into his throat one more in an attempt to be a good cocksleeve for his master.


	14. Newtacles - Distention, Tentacles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 14 - ~~Asphyxiation | Cunnilingus~~ | Distention | Tentacles
> 
>  **Rape/Non-Con  
> **  
>  Chapter tags: Newt Scamander/Tentacle Monster, Trans Male Newt Scamander, Head Injury, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Breeding, Oviposition, Vaginal Penetration, Cervical Penetration, Mind Break

By the time Newt notices the tentacle wrapping around his ankle it’s already too late.

He takes a step and trips, notebook and wand splashing in the shallow water and scattering the school of tiny, glowing fish he’d been studying.  The sudden chill shocks him, and for a moment he just scrambles to push his head out of the water as he soaks through to the skin. He grabs for the notes, pulling them out of the water in a hurried attempt to save them from being ruined.  He’s spent three days in this cave, he can’t afford to lose all that work.

He doesn’t have time to inspect the damage; the thing around his ankle tugs, and though he reaches for his wand his fingertips only just brush it before he’s pulled out of reach.

That’s unfortunate.

He turns, pushing himself up to sitting and trying reflexively to pull his leg free.  He can’t see what has him. The water is shallow but dark, and without his wand for illumination all he has to work with is the feeling of a thick, muscular tentacle winding up his calf.  Each time he pulls back it squeezes tighter, jerking him sharply as he scrabbles for purchase against the slippery rocks - it doesn’t take more than a moment to realize he can’t overpower it.

It pulls, hard, and the stones slide out from under him as he splashes back into the water, the back of his head colliding with solid rock.

Things get fuzzy after that.

The creature’s progress is much faster once they get to deeper water, and Newt can’t stop himself feeling a pang of helplessness as the walls of the cave slip by, all light fading until he’s left in utter darkness.

At long last they drift to a stop.  He doesn’t know the depth of the water he’s floating in, or how far they’ve gone from the cave entrance.  He doesn’t know what has him. He does discover, however, that it has many, many tentacles.

They wrap around him at once, twining over his legs and hips and sliding under his shirt, and it’s the most peculiar feeling; the creature is cold against his skin, its flesh thick and rubbery, but everywhere it touches him is lit with a pleasant, tingling warmth.  The creature must enjoy it too, because it seems to seek out every opportunity for skin to skin contact. It slips under his clothes wherever it can, tugging at them like a nuisance - until a seam rips, and with surprising dexterity it pulls off his shirt.

The rest of his clothes follow soon after, and he’s left naked in the inky blackness as strong limbs caress his body.  Newt’s attempts to ward off the grasping tentacles only ends with his wrists caught, and he realizes with alarm that his entire body has become trapped within the writhing, shifting mass.  His arms, his legs, his torso, are all wrapped up in the warmth from the tentacles, which roam over his body as though searching for something.

The slick tip of a tentacle dips between his legs, just brushing against his pussy, and god - he kicks out, hard, managing to make his foot connect with the creature.  He doubts he did it any real damage, but the tentacle between his legs pauses.

It retreats, but Newt doesn’t even have time to sigh in relief before something thick and blunt presses against his lips.  It’s insistent, other tentacles joining in to pry his mouth open, and Newt can do little more than moan in protest as the thing slips past his teeth.

It’s huge, stretching his jaw uncomfortably wide and stopping just shy of making him gag.  It takes no notice of his attempts to bite, but after a moment it starts to… swell. It locks behind his teeth, filling his mouth completely and muffling his panicked noises.  It tastes sweet.

Newt gulps reflexively, his body swallowing the thick secretion filling his mouth to avoid choking.  It’s pouring down his throat, sitting heavily in his stomach and making his head spin the more he swallows, but he can’t stop.

His body radiates warmth.  The tentacles caress him, and he relaxes into their hold.  It’s not so bad, he realizes. It’s so nice to be touched, fondled, played with and explored, why would he struggle against something that feels so good?  Even the fluid in his mouth feels good, warming him up from the inside and melting his core, turning him soft, and he suckles to get more of it.

The tentacle between his legs returns, and he doesn’t mind so much any more.  The creature spreads his thighs apart, exposing his pussy to its probing limbs, and Newt feels arousal bloom in his belly as it strokes his folds.  It’s bliss.

When it finds his entrance and slips inside he almost comes from the pleasure, realizing suddenly that this is what he’s always wanted.  What he’s always _needed._  He needs to be filled, and oh, it’s filling him so well - making a space for itself deep inside him, more tentacles joining that first one and opening him up so wide, taking him so deeply.  

It bumps up against his cervix and his body spasms; he’s never been touched there before, never had something so deep inside him.  There’s a sensation of heat inside him, and pressure, as it writhes in his body. He’s stuffed so very full - and then something shifts inside him, and his body gives way.

The tentacle that pushes into his womb must be small, he knows that, but it feels enormous.  He’s skewered straight through to his deepest place, held open for this creature to use, and he loves it.

The creature shifts, and when it settles again it’s with the strangest sensation of something travelling up those tentacles inside him.  A little lump, barely noticeable as it moves through his channel but suddenly overwhelming when it reaches his cervix, pushing itself deeper, deeper, until it’s finally implanted in his waiting womb.

There’s another, and another, pumped into him in a seemingly unending stream, forcing his body to expand and mould itself to accommodate them.  Before long he’s bulging with the creature’s eggs, his belly taught and heavy, constantly stroked and encouraged as it grows.

Newt can’t really think any more, but he feels happy - happy to be useful.


	15. Thesival - Overstimulation, Uniforms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 15 - ~~Forniphilia (Human Furniture)~~ | Overstimulation | ~~Intercrural Sex~~ | Uniforms
> 
>  **No Archive Warnings Apply  
> **  
>  Chapter tags: Original Percival Graves/Theseus Scamander, BDSM, Light Bondage, Humiliation, Verbal Humiliation, Degradation, Homophobic Language, Handjobs, Uniforms, Multiple Orgasms, Overstimulation

Percival shivers, exposed as he is on the bed.  He's spread eagle, wrists and ankles tied expertly to the corners, leaving him nowhere to hide as his throbbing cock curves up over his belly and betrays his eagerness.

Theseus looks down at him, seeming all too smug, and Percival does his best to bury his face in his shoulder.

“Look at me,” Theseus orders, and Percival does.  Theseus is immaculate; the lines of his jacket are crisp, belted around the waist with a line of medals pinned meticulously to his breast; his tie is straight, his collar starched; his trousers perfectly pressed with clean creases running down to his gleaming boots.  Percival was damned the moment Theseus found out what it did to him to see him in that uniform.

His dick twitches and he feels horribly, wonderfully vulnerable in comparison.

Theseus sits down on the bed next to him, back straight, and surveils Percival’s body as though it were a territory he wished to conquer.

He runs one gloved hand down the length of him, over his chest and stomach, the leather cool against his skin as it comes to rest at his groin.  He fists Percival’s cock, squeezing cruelly. “You’re hard,” he says. “That’s disgusting.”

“I’m sorry, sir,” Percival gasps, but even as he says it his hips thrust up into Theseus’ hand.

Theseus sneers.  “Cocksucker.” He releases his grip, reaching for the bottle of lube on the nightstand, and Percival watches him pour a generous portion into his hand.

The slide of the leather against his cock is glorious, and Percival throws his head back and moans at the perfect, firm pressure of Theseus’ strokes.

“How vulgar.  Do you want to come, cocksucker?”

“Sir - yes sir, I do sir -”

Theseus speeds up his rhythm, rubbing his thumb over the sensitive head of Percival’s cock.  “Go on, then. Debase yourself. Come from a man’s hand on your cock.”

It only takes moments for Percival to spill, falling over the edge embarrassingly quickly with what Theseus is doing to him.  His muscles seize, body jerking, and Theseus just milks him through it while Percival comes all over his hand. It feels wonderful, the shame making his pleasure burn brighter, sparking along his nerves and filling his core.

It crests, washing through him and over him, going on and on - and it doesn’t stop.  Theseus’ hand is still working his cock, and it’s too much, too soon. He needs to rest before he’s ready to go again, and he squirms in discomfort, trying fruitlessly to escape Theseus’ grip.  It isn’t so much pleasure anymore as pure sensation, and it makes him pant and writhe.

“Sir - sir!”

“Shut up, before I put my dick down your throat and make you shut up.”

Percival wouldn’t actually mind that, but he bites his lip all the same, trying to do as he’s told.  Still, he can’t stop his whimpers - it’s so  _ much, _ teetering between pleasure and pain, and Theseus is relentless.  He’s hard again all too soon, his skin feeling tight and tender, and he sobs when the beginning of an orgasm builds within him once more.

“Sir,  _ sir, SIR!” _

His orgasm is ripped from him, twisting in his belly and leaving him a quivering, sobbing mess under Theseus’ hands.  The lightest of his strokes feels like a bolt straight through to his core, and though he gentles his touch, he still trails fingertips up and down his hypersensitive shaft while Percival shakes.

“Look at you,” Theseus says, and despite his best efforts Percival can hear a bit of awe in his voice.  They’ve only just gotten started, and fuck - this is going to be a good night.


	16. Gramander - Nipple Play, Frottage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 16 - Nipple Play | Frottage | ~~Body Worship | Sixty-nine~~
> 
>  **No Archive Warnings Apply  
> **  
>  Chapter tags: Newt Scamander/Original Percival Graves, Nipple Play, Kissing, Office Sex, Frottage

It’s been a long day, and Newt is - he’s more than tired, he’s bone-deep exhausted.  And yet he’s still at MACUSA, still working, the last one in the office for all he knows.  His creatures are all settled in for the night, but he can’t afford to do the same for himself.  He has a proposal on endangered creatures to finish, advisory notes to write up for a case, another chapter of his book to draft, and bloody hell if sitting in this office isn’t a worse torture than his most grueling fieldwork.  The only relief is knowing it’s temporary - soon he’ll be off again, free at last - but it’s a small consolation when his eyes are burning from the late hour, his hand cramping from holding a quill, and his back aching from MACUSA’s less than comfortable chairs.

A knock on the door pulls him from his thoughts, and he looks up with a start.

“Mr. Scamander - forgive the interruption, I saw the light.”

Director Graves makes a cutting figure in the doorway, but on a closer look Newt can see the same tell-tale signs of exhaustion he feels in himself; slight bags under his eyes, tie not quite straight, a weary smile which speaks of a momentary respite from a never-ending stream of work.

“No no, come in Mr. Graves.  Any excuse for a break.”

Graves nods in appreciation, shutting the door behind himself.  “If you were one of my aurors, I’d tell you to pack in for the night.  We have a policy in my department, no one besides myself here past nine unless someone’s life is at stake.”

Newt smiles ruefully.  “In that case, perhaps I’d like to be an auror after all.”

“You must take care of yourself, Mr. Scamander,” Graves says, and he’s close enough now to lean across the desk and place a hand on Newt’s arm.

Newt pauses.  The touch, he must admit, feels good - it’s been far too long since he’s taken the time to relax with another person.  But is Graves really offering…?

“I’m afraid I’ve always been better at taking care of others, than myself,” he responds carefully.

Graves smiles, and there’s a heat growing in his eyes.  “Perhaps you need someone to look after you.”

Newt swallows, his heart beating a little faster at the possibility.  “I - yes. Perhaps.”

That seems to be all the invitation Graves needs.  He rounds the desk and squeezes Newt’s shoulders, caresses his neck, before cupping his jaw and lifting his head up for a kiss.  His lips are soft and hungry all at once, and it’s wonderful.

In moments he has Newt up out of his chair, clearing away the papers on the desk with a quick flick of his wand so he can lift Newt onto it, lavishing kisses down his throat.  Newt spreads his thighs so that Graves can step between them, bodies pressed close together. Graves grinds his hips forward, rubbing against Newt through their clothes and groaning with the sensation, and Newt can feel the bulge of him.

Newt tips his head back and lets himself moan when Graves nibbles at his collar bone, basking in the sudden pleasure - it feels so good to be touched and kissed and caressed, and Merlin, what did he do to earn a midnight rendezvous with Director Graves?

Graves’ hands rest on his sides, stroking him through the thin fabric of his shirt and making him press forward for more before his hands start to explore, stroking down over his thighs, up to his chest, and oh - his thumbs brush Newt’s nipples, and he goes soft in Graves’ arms.  He’s always been weak for that, always craved to be touched there.

Graves notices, and he chuckles.  “You like that,” he says, voice dark, and Newt can only nod.  He does. Graves indulges him, rubbing his thumbs in deep, slow circles which make his spine melt until he gently lays Newt out on the desk and unbuttons his shirt.

He lays his hands on Newt’s pectorals, squeezing, and it’s pure bliss.  Then he teases, the bastard, tracing his fingers in maddeningly wide circles which make Newt shake, until at last he spirals inwards to pet his nipples again.  He pinches, taking the hard little nubs between his thumb and forefinger and rolling them gently, and Newt tosses his head side to side, pushing his chest up for more.  He wants to beg Graves never to stop.

Graves finds a steady rhythm, rolling his hips against Newt’s while his fingers work his nipples; squeezing and then rubbing deep, deep into the muscle of his chest, until Newt’s spine melts and he’s coming apart at the seams.  He’s never had someone treat his nipples quite so well.

Whatever he did to earn this, he makes a vow to do it again.


	17. Grindelgraves - Seduction, Collaring, Denial

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 17 - ~~Masturbation~~ | Seduction | Collaring | Orgasm Denial
> 
>  **Rape/Non-Con  
> **  
>  Chapter tags: Gellert Grindelwald/Original Percival Graves, Vampire Gellert Grindelwald, Young Percival Graves, Vampire Allure, Mind Control, Memory Loss, Nightclubs, Abduction, Dehumanization, Collaring, Biting, Chastity, Mind Break

The heavy dance beat pounds in Percival’s ears, and if he’s honest, it’s giving him a headache.  Seraphina and Theseus are still out in the middle of the floor somewhere, but Percival just doesn’t have that kind of stamina; he doesn’t mind clubs, but do they all have to be so loud?

He catches the bartender’s eye.  “Guiness.”

“ID?” the man asks, and Percival makes a face.

“I’ll have a coke.”  Just what he needs to make the night truly a bust.

He turns, looking back out across the crowded floor for Thes and Phina, when something at the corner of his vision… flickers.  There’s a man a few seats down the bar from him, watching him. There’s something strange about his appearance - he’s older, a little too old for a place like this, his hair is a stark, shocking white, and his eyes… Percival looks closer, trying to make it out across the dim room.  His eyes seem to gleam, and he can see now that they don’t match - one is brown, and the other bright blue.

“Good boy,” the man says, and Percival blinks.  The club music comes rushing back, along with the shouts of people dancing and the clink of glasses at the bar, and with a slight wave of dizziness Percival realizes he’s standing in front of the stranger.

He doesn’t remember moving.

“Uh,” he says, and the man smiles.

“Just relax.  You look tired.”

He is tired.  He’s very tired, but when his gaze slides back up to meet the stranger’s he feels better.  Lighter, and softer.

“That’s it, let’s see…”  There are hands on him, stroking his chest and waist, reaching to grope his ass, cupping his groin and squeezing gently while Percival stands there.  “How old are you?”

“Nineteen,” Percival hears himself answer.  His voice sounds like it’s coming from far away.

The man makes a considering hum, eyes roving over Percival from top to bottom, and he stands.  He places a hand on the small of Percival’s back, and without a backwards glance Percival follows him out of the club.

The next time he blinks he’s spread out on an unfamiliar bed, naked, with the man above him.

“Wha...”

“Shhh.”

Percival obeys, his head lolling to the side.  His body feels so warm and heavy, his limbs disconnected, and he isn’t sure he could move them if he tried.  Confusion swims in his mind, but the man strokes his nipple and he lets it go in favor of the hazy warmth that rises in him.

Fingers grip his chin, turning his head so that he can see the leather strip dangling in front of his face.  It’s pretty - inset with jewels which sparkle when the light hits them, connected to a thin gold chain.

“You like it,” the man says, and Percival nods, captivated.  “It will make you mine.”

Percival’s head is lifted, and a moment later he feels the collar being fastened snug around his throat.  It’s comforting, even though he doesn’t quite know why.

“And this…”  The man holds up something metal, almost like a cage, which Percival doesn’t recognize.  “This will keep you sweet for me.”

A hand lifts his half-hard cock, fitting something behind his balls, and he make a tiny, unsure sound when cool metal slides over his shaft.  The man handles him impersonally, locking his genitals away with a click. Percival tries to look down at himself, but finds that he’s too tired to raise his head.

The next thing he’s aware of is a wet tongue on his nipples, and fingers slipping inside him to rub a spot that sets off sparks behind his eyelids. It feels glorious.  He presses into the touch, squirming weakly, and is rewarded by a body against his own and a thick cock slipping into his hole.

It feels good, but… his moans turn to frustrated whines, his cock straining and failing to get hard.  His arousal doesn’t have anywhere to go, and he doesn’t understand.

The man blankets him with his body, kisses him until his lips are swollen, and when sharp teeth draw blood just above his new collar, it feels almost as good as the orgasm he’ll never have.


	18. Thesewald - Fucking Machine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 18 - Fucking Machine | ~~Latex | Role Reversal | Xenophilia~~
> 
>  **Rape/Non-Con  
> **  
>  Chapter tags: Gellert Grindelwald/Theseus Scamander, Abduction, Bondage, Humiliation, Fucking Machines, Rimming, Memory Loss, Submission, Forced Arousal

“Back with us, Mr. Scamander?”

Theseus groans, groggy.  He knows that voice, and it sends ice down his spine.  Something is horribly wrong, he needs to get up, he needs help -

His body jerks, held fast by his bonds, and he blinks his eyes open.

Grindelwald sits in front of him, smiling an awful, knowing smile.  Theseus strains, trying to take in his situation - he's strapped into some sort of padded bench, his chest and head supported, his legs bent and spread wide, with soft, thick straps rendering him immobile.  He is, he realizes with a dull pang, naked. His cock hangs vulnerable between his spread thighs, his arse just parted, and a wave of nausea rolls through him. Grindelwald doesn't miss his futile attempt to close his legs, and his grin widens.

“Relax.  I've already seen it all, who do you think undressed you?”

Theseus turns scarlet.  He sputters, a deep knot of humiliation forming in his chest, along with a cold fear rooted in his belly at what kind of torture this means he'll be subjected to.  “What do you want with me?” he forces himself to ask, loathing the way his voice shakes. He isn't sure he wants to know the answer.

“I just want to play with you, Scamander.  You'll even like it.”

“If you want information -”

Grindelwald waves his hand dismissively.  “I don't. I want you to accept that you have no control over your body.  To be grateful for whatever I do to you and beg me not to stop, to submit and let yourself fall into the bliss I give you.  I want to give you pleasure like you’ve never known, and to see you crave it like an addiction. In short, Scamander, I want you to break.”

Theseus sucks in breath through his teeth.  Grindelwald is a madman.

“I won’t,” he says, setting his jaw against whatever is to come.

“Won’t you?”  There’s an amused, almost knowing, note to Grindelwald’s voice, and Theseus suppresses a violent shudder.

He won’t break, not that way.  Humiliation isn’t enough to crack decades of training as an auror and a soldier - Grindelwald will have to try much harder than that.

No sooner does Theseus finish the thought than Grindelwald snaps his fingers, and a truly sickening sensation blooms in his guts.  His arse is full to dripping with cool, slippery lubricant, buttering up his insides and pouring out of his hole to dribble over his balls and down the insides of this thighs.  It feels so fucking wrong.

Grindelwald rises, his approach slow and unhurried, and runs a gentle hand through Theseus’ hair.  His touch is - in a word - perfect. His fingertips press into his scalp with just the right pressure, his strokes long and slow, and it sends warm tingles all the way down Theseus’ spine while he sets his expression and makes a vow to himself that he won’t react, no matter what Grindelwald does.

“Accept it,” Grindelwald says.  “When you do, I won’t even make you remember.  I’ll let you forget how weak you are, how easily I broke you, and you can go back to thinking of yourself as England’s righteous hero.  Submit to me, and I’ll allow you to forget.”

Grindelwald says it as though it’s a mercy, but it only compounds the horror.  He’s about to be humiliated, violated, and Grindelwald expects him to want his mind warped as well?  He steels himself, prepared for what’s coming.

But he’s not prepared.  Hands grip his arse, strong fingers digging into his flesh and easing him open, and Theseus jolts.  Is there someone - ? He strains against his bonds to look, but there’s no one behind him. Only empty air, and Grindelwald in front of him, looking down smugly and stroking a soothing hand between his shoulder blades.

And then something - something wet, and soft, right _there_ in the place he’s never allowed anyone to touch.  There’s a tongue licking his arse hole, laving him with long, slow strokes, and Theseus’ body doesn’t know how to react.  He can’t react, he can’t do anything, he can’t let Grindelwald see - and it disgusts him, it’s not something he would ever allow or enjoy, so it must be Grindelwald’s doing when his hole starts to slacken and twitch.  He would never enjoy it; not when the tongue circles his rim with its tip, not when it starts to prod at his entrance so agonizingly slowly that his muscles can’t help but relax, not when - god, when it pushes _inside_ -

His cock stiffening between his legs doesn’t mean he likes it.

“You’re responding so well,” Grindelwald praises.  “Just give in.”

He’s afraid his body already has.  A sheen of sweat has broken out across his back, his hips have begun to dance and sway in search of _more, deeper,_ and try as he might he can’t make himself clench against the liquid pleasure invading his body.  It just feels so bloody good.

Grindelwald lets him writhe like that for long, torturous minutes.  When the tongue finally vanishes, leaving his hole twitching and eager, any relief he feels is overwhelmed by desperate frustration and need.

Grindelwald chuckles, stroking a hand down his spine in reassurance as he walks around behind him.  “Don’t fret.”

Theseus’ needy hole spasms under Grindelwald’s gaze, and he burns with shame.

He can’t see what Grindelwald is doing between his legs, but he can hear the mechanical click, and a moment later something breaches him.  He never even had a chance to resist. The thing slides deep inside him, opening him up as though he was made for it, pressing against his walls in a way he’s never experienced.  It can’t be much bigger than a finger, but he feels it to his core.

And then there’s a click, something mechanical whirring to life, and the thing _moves._  It fucks into his slick hole, pressing deep against something which makes him gasp and see stars, thrusting deep into his guts.  It gives him a nice, deep fucking, moving so very slowly that his hips try to jerk backwards to take it faster, but he can’t. All he can do is lay there as it penetrates him, millimeter by millimeter, deeper and deeper and deeper.  The rhythm never varies, just slow enough to drive him utterly and completely mad.

The change is imperceptible at first, but over time, it’s unmistakable.  His soft channel is being stretched with each agonizingly slow thrust, spread wider, as the thing inside him grows.  By the time he notices it’s already up to what must be three fingers, opening him up so gently and gradually that it’s impossible to fight.  And his body wouldn’t fight it, even if it could; the wider he’s spread, the more he’s stretched, the better it feels.

Grindelwald stays by his side the whole time, petting him and murmuring praises, describing to him how stretched out his hole is, and when Theseus starts to cry he comforts him and wipes away his tears.

Maybe… maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to submit?  If he gives Grindelwald his mind, he won’t even have to remember.


	19. Grindelgraves - Straitjacket, Cock Warming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 19 - ~~Public | Formal Wear~~ | Straitjacket | Cock-Warming
> 
>  **Rape/Non-Con  
> **  
>  Chapter tags: Gellert Grindelwald/Original Percival Graves, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Mental Instability, Mental Institutions, Straitjackets, Restraints, Manipulation, Gags, Dehumanization, Memory Loss, Anal Stretching, Sounding, Urethral Stretching, Cock Warming

Graves wakes to the familiar feeling of something inside him.  There’s cold lube smeared across his hole and his legs are spread, ankles strapped to either side of the bed, to allow something thick and blunt to be inserted deep in his body.  It spreads him open like butter, opening up his insides and lodging in his center with a heavy weight, leaving him stuffed comfortably full.

He opens his eyes, gazing up unfocused at the white ceiling above him.  Everything in his room is white, even the doctor’s hair. Graves can just see him at the bottom of his vision, bent over and intent on his work as he fucks the plug in and out of his ass.  Graves moans behind his gag. The doctor said he loved his plug therapy. It was so comforting to be full.

“Hello there, Percy,” the doctor says.  Graves’ head lolls to the side as he squirms aimlessly, his body moving against his straitjacket but kept reassuringly constrained.  The jacket is there to keep him safe and he feels so much better when it’s on, like a comfortable pressure wrapping him up. It means he can’t do anything for himself and the doctor says it’s good for him to learn to be dependent.

The doctor pauses his ministrations between his legs to lean over him and unbuckle his gag, pulling the rubber bit from beneath his teeth.  Long strings of drool connect it to his slack lips and Graves’ mouth hangs open as he watches the doctor put the gag away. He’s comfortably drowsy, body warm with a soft heat as though he’s been immersed in a relaxing bath.

“How are you feeling?”

Graves looks back at him, working his jaw before finally responding, “Ahh.”

“Hmm.  And what’s your name?”

He knows that.  It takes him a moment to get his tongue to work, but he can say it.  “Perc’val Graves,” he slurs.

The doctor hums, considering.  “Are you sure?”

Graves frowns.  He thinks it’s right.  Maybe it’s not? He waits for the doctor to tell him.

“Are you Percival Graves, the political figure with paranoid delusions of magical powers, or are you Percy, my patient who accepts his treatment?”

Oh.  He remembers now.  “Percy.”

“That’s right.  Good job.”

Percy smiles, glad the doctor is happy.  He likes his treatments. They always make him feel good.  He thinks he used to fight them but he can’t remember why anymore - there are a lot of things he can’t remember, but that just means the treatment is working.

The doctor is back between his legs.  Percy hums tunelessly while he feels the doctor work; two fingers lift his cock, inspecting it briefly, and a moment later the ring around the head is unlatched and the sound pulled free.  It leaves him gaping uncomfortably and he’s relieved when the doctor puts the new sound back in.

“Good boy,” the doctor says.  “That’s another size up for you.”

Percy smiles and his cock flops back down between his legs.  The same drugs which keep his mind soft and placid also make his cock limp, no matter how good what the doctor does feels, but he’s used to it now.  He doesn’t really remember anything else. Sometimes when the doctor makes his cock twitch and dribble he feels like he was expecting something different, but a lot of the things he thinks are wrong - that’s why the doctor is here, to help him think the right things.

Another gag is being fit between his teeth, the one with the rubber ring to keep his mouth open, and the restraints around his ankles fall away. Hands grip his shoulders, he's pulled to the side of the bed, and as his head is nestled into the doctor's lap it dawns on him what treatment he's getting next.

The doctor's thick, heavy cock fills up his mouth perfectly and he drools around it in contentment.  Part of his treatment is to learn to accept whatever is done to his body, no matter what or by whom, so he just relaxes and enjoys the warmth in his veins while the cock rests inside him.

He drifts in and out, but it feels as though they stay that way for hours.  There's a thick sheen of drool coating his chin and cheek by the time they're interrupted by the door of the room opening, one of the nurses leaning in.

“Dr. Grindelwald?  You're needed in room eleven.”

Above him, the doctor sighs.  “Very well. I'll be there shortly.”

Percy finds his mouth empty, both the cock and the gag taken away as he's repositioned and strapped down to the bed.  His head lolls and he wishes his treatment had gone on longer, but it's difficult to care very much - about anything, really - when his whole body feels so nice and warm.

The doctor wipes his face for him before buckling the leather strap back over his mouth, and Percy smiles behind it, enjoying how full his ass and cock still are.


	20. Thesival - Dirty Talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 20 - ~~Urophagia | Hot-Dogging | Emeto~~ | Dirty talk
> 
>  **No Archive Warnings Apply  
> **  
>  Chapter tags: Theseus Scamander/Original Percival Graves, Established Relationship, Long-Distance Relationship, Letters, Masturbation Instructions, Humiliation, Denial, Enthusiastic Consent

Tuesday October 20th, 1925

My Dearest Percival -

Have you been good for me, pup?  I do hope you are reading this in a private setting - if it has reached you at MACUSA, or you’re expecting guests, you’d best save it.  I’ll wait. I have plans for you tonight, and I expect you to do as I say. Get yourself home, draw your curtains, and be a good boy. Don’t you dare read ahead - when next I see you, I shall know if you have.

Now, I want you to sit in that armchair you’ve got by the fire.  Take off your shoes, put your feet up, and lay back. Good boy. Regarding my last letter - I trust you’ve done as instructed.  I know it was difficult, pup, but if you only knew the pleasure it brought me to imagine your face as you read it. I’ve thought of you often since then, how you must wake hard and ready, but forbidden to act.  Damn this ocean between us, but to think I can do such things to you from the other side of the world is a glorious thing. I must confide I’ve brought myself off many times to the thought that you can’t. I’ve pictured you squirming in bed, aching, hoping each day for a letter that will release you.  Well, love, it’s here.

But wait, don’t touch yet.  You must do it as I say. You should still be dressed - I picture you freshly arrived home after a long day, or perhaps my letter has reached you on the week-end.  Either is fine, so long as you have shirt and trousers. Lay back now, be comfortable. You may take your right hand and rest it on your groin, atop your trousers, but do not stroke or rub.  You must keep your hand still. Are you growing hard yet? Perhaps you have been all day, your little prick straining as you sit behind your desk, just wishing you could touch it. Do you think any of your aurors noticed the bulge in your trousers?

Now, read carefully.  You must put my letter down for the next bit, so I want you to read my instructions first.  You are to use your left hand to play with your nipples, and keep your right hand still. No cheating, you are not to move your right hand nor your hips at all.  Start by using your fingernail, I want you to scrape it lightly over your nipples until they’re hard little nubs beneath your shirt. Then you may pinch and rub as you like - do two or three good, hard pinches for me, as I am not there to do so myself.  Continue this until you’re properly hard, with your prick making a nice bulge in your trousers and throbbing beneath your hand. Do it now, love, and then read on.

Good boy, that’s it.  Stop now. I can imagine you growing impatient, but you must wait.  I’m not done with you yet. You should thank me, pup - I’m about to let you touch your prick.  One finger, that’s all you need right now. Use one finger from your right hand to stroke yourself, nice and slow.  Do you still have that old clock on the mantel? Watch the second hand, and each time it moves, you may stroke once.  How does it feel, touching after so long? Does it make you shiver? Do your hips buck? Enjoy it, but try to stay still for me.  Watch the clock now - I want you to stroke like this for two more minutes.

Of course, you haven’t really been touching, not with your trousers in the way.  I know it’s not the same. Take them off now, and your underwear too. Do it slow, and imagine that I’m watching - let your hands caress your hips, and think of my eyes on you, drinking in each movement.  Show off for me, love.

There, that’s better.  Are you ready to touch your prick?  You must be so eager. I love it when you’re desperate, pup, the way your cheeks flush and your eyes get so soft.  I find myself distracted by the vision, knowing that my words do this to you - I can make you pant and whine with only letters, love, imagine what I’ll do to you when next we meet.  But you must think me cruel, not letting you touch at all while I describe your plight. It’s all right - suck on your fingers, there’s a good boy, get them nice and wet. Spread your thighs as you do it, spread them wide.  I want your knees up over the arms of your chair. Imagine me kneeling in front of you, looking at that cute little pucker you've got between your legs while you suck your fingers.

Touch it - not your prick.  Your hole. Take two fingers and rub it, nice and deep, go on.  You can rub it as much as you want, pup, but don't you dare put anything inside.  Only I get to do that. I want you to work it until it's nice and loose, until it goes all soft and starts to twitch under your fingers, begging for more.  Think about how good it would feel to have me open you up, working my fingers into you, burying my tongue in your wanting hole to get you ready for my cock, and then finally stretching you wide - you want that, I know it, you want it as much as I do.

Stop.  I can almost hear you whine as you read that, but be a good boy.  Take your hand away. You've been so good for me, letting me tease you like this - you love it, but I know it isn't easy.  I love that you do it for me anyway. Are you ready for your reward? Good. Fist your hand around your prick, just hold it there for a moment - now stroke it once.  How did it feel? Did it make your toes curl? Did you moan? I think you were so eager, you did it too quickly. Do it again, slowly, and moan for me as you do. Don't be embarrassed.  There's only me here, and I love the sounds you make. I want you to enjoy this. Do it again, stroke yourself from base to tip, and count to five as you do. You must not do it any faster, I know how you can be.  You need me to help you savor this. Do it again. Again. Good boy.

You may count to four now.  Count slowly, don't rush. Make it good, squeeze as hard as you like, and stroke yourself.  Thrice more, that's it. Are you close? Yes, I think you must be. You'd like to go faster, needy boy, I know you want to come.  Ask me for it. Say, “Theseus, may I please stroke my prick faster.” Say it aloud, do it now. Beg me, pup.

You may.  Count to three.  Yes, keep going, as much as you want so long as you always count to three.  Isn't that kind of me? You should thank me, aren't you grateful? Say thank you.  Tell me how much you need it. Ah, love, you must be aching. How long before mercy turns to torment and you start to crave more, faster, harder, or perhaps it already has?  Look at the clock. One minute like this, and you may beg me again.

You're so good for me.  Tell me how much you need it, go on.  Tell me, “Theseus, my little prick wants to be stroked so badly, please will you let me touch it faster?”  Beg me sweetly. I want to hear you whimper and moan - make yourself cry for me, and call my name as you writhe.  Don't touch now, just beg. Say, “Please, please Theseus, let me feel good.” I love it when you get like this. That look in your eyes when you want nothing more than release but hold yourself back just for me.

All right, you may touch again.  Stroke as fast as you want, touch yourself how you like, but don't come.  You haven't earned it yet. Yes, you've been so good for me, but I'm not done with you yet.  Bring yourself right to the edge and then wait for me. Does it feel good? Try teasing the head, rub your thumb over it and smear that messy precome around the tip.  Yeah, I know you like that. Squeeze your balls, just gently, and think about me rolling them in my hand. Don't spill.

Say you want to come, convince me I should let you.  I like it when you're needy, so you'll have to try hard.  Tell me how much your balls ache, how your prick throbs and weeps, how you haven't been able to think of anything else for days and you've just been waiting for me to release you.  Say, “Please Theseus, my prick needs to come,” and convince me that you mean it. You must look so debauched - panting with your head thrown back, eyes glazed over while you touch yourself, your hand working so quickly.  You have such a lovely, soft body - I’d wager your lips are glistening. I've brought myself off every night thinking of those lips, and all the filthy things they do.

What would you do to come?  Would you go another week without touching, if you knew you could come at the end?  Would you write a letter begging me, filling page after page with the details of your arousal while your prick wept in your lap?  Would you stretch out your arse for me, stuff it full, and walk around all day imagining you had my cock inside you? I think you would.  You would do all this and more, you’ll do anything I say, you’re so good that way. I think that when we next meet I’ll make you rub off on my shoe and come in your trousers before I’ll kiss you, because I know you will.  I can see it now, looking down at you as you grind your little prick, watching the stain spread when you finally come.

Ah, but you’ve distracted me.  Perhaps you’ve begun to doubt that I’ll let you have release.  Did you beg nicely? Are you right at the edge? Then you needn’t worry.  Get ready now. When you come I want you to say my name, say it as though it were a prayer on your lips, and think of me kissing you.

Come now, pup.  Come for me.

Good boy, yes, that’s my good boy.  Breathe, you’re all right. Stroke yourself through to the end, I want you to enjoy it.  Don’t clean up yet. I want to think of you like this, wet and used with your prick going soft between your thighs, laying back and breathing while the pleasure disperses through your body.  I hope it made you feel glorious, love. Let yourself settle - take a moment and just breathe for me before you read on.

I have a choice for you.  I will be delighted either way, for I have created the options, but I want you to consider carefully for yourself.  You may touch yourself as much as you want, and you may make yourself come, but each time you do you must write me and describe it in detail - how you touched, each thing you thought of - and you must thank me for the privilege of touching your prick, or I’ll no longer let you; or you can choose not to touch, not even a little - and you know that I am strict - for as long as I choose, and await each letter to know whether I allow you pleasure.

It is up to you, love, so be sure you choose wisely.  Write me with your answer, for I ache to read your words again.

Enduringly yours,


	21. Grindelgraves - Branding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 21 - ~~Bukakke | Food play | Suspension~~ | Branding
> 
>  **Rape/Non-Con  
> **  
>  Chapter tags: Gellert Grindelwald/Original Percival Graves, Slavery, Sexual Slavery, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Castration, Dehumanization, Objectification, Branding

Percival waits, standing still with his eyes forward while his new master completes his purchase.  He doesn’t understand all the details, but then again, he’s not supposed to - he’s been told all he needs to know, which is that Mr. Gellert Grindelwald is his owner now and the purpose of Percival’s existence is to serve him.

His body has already been customized to his master’s liking, which Percival was told he should be grateful for, because it makes it easier for him to be pleasing.  His body had been a blank slate onto which Grindelwald wrote his desires.

He’s been stripped of all body hair, leaving his skin soft and smooth to the touch - he thinks it makes him look younger, and he wonders if Master would like him to act younger as well.  His balls were removed too, so that he no longer annoys his master by having bodily needs of his own. He was allowed to keep his dick, overhearing that Grindelwald found it funny to watch it flop, but the tendons in his fingers were cut.  It renders his hands next to useless, and establishes him firmly in his role; he’ll always be a pleasure slave now, even if Grindelwald sells him on he has no hope of serving any other way. His voice had been the last thing to go. He can’t even whisper - not that he’d been allowed to speak very often before, but now his silence is complete.  It had been a decision of convenience for Grindelwald more than anything else, he knew. Now there was no need for gags.

Grindelwald finishes signing the papers with a flourish and turns towards him, eyes raking up and down in inspection.  Percival keeps his back straight, arms at his sides, gaze up.

“The modifications are complete?” Grindelwald asks, and the salesman nods.  “Hmm.”

Grindelwald reaches out, lifting Percival’s dick to look at the thin, pink scar beneath it.  The touch is impersonal and cold. Percival swallows, making himself hold still and be good while his stomach tightens.  Grindelwald must be pleased with what he sees, because he hums and lets Percival’s dick flop back down between his legs. He takes Percival’s wrist, toying with his useless fingers before he lets it fall as well, and Percival has to blink quickly.  Whenever he thinks about his body, he feels… he doesn’t know, but he just keeps reminding himself that it’s okay, they were allowed to do what they did, it’s what he’s for.

“Satisfied?”

“Indeed.  He just needs the finishing touch.”

Percival watches as Grindelwald raises his wand, his heart beating fast against his ribs.  What’s the finishing touch? What is there left to do to him?

Grindelwald grips his chin and places the tip of his wand against his left cheek, pausing for a horrible, tense moment, before blinding pain engulfs the side of his face.  He opens his mouth to scream but has no voice to do so - all he manages is a gasp to accompany the tears spilling from his eyes.

The initial burst of pain slowly recedes, leaving behind a deep, scorched, burning in the place Grindelwald’s wand touched.  There’s a tug on his collar - Grindelwald is already leaving, having concluded his affairs while Percival staggered with pain - and as he hurries to follow he catches sight of his reflection.

He sees it only briefly, caught in the glass of one of the pictures hanging on the wall, but it’s enough to make his stomach turn.  His master’s sigil, the double G of his initials, is burned in angry welts from his cheekbone down to his jaw, his flesh an ugly, raw red.

The finishing touch.


	22. Grindelgravebone - Handjobs, Threesome

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 22 - ~~Impact Play | Cuckolding~~ | Hand-jobs | Threesome (or more)
> 
>  **Underage  
> **  
>  Chapter tags: Gellert Grindelwald/Original Percival Graves, Gellert Grindelwald/Original Percival Graves/Credence Barebone, Extremely Underage, Rape/Non-Con Elements, Kissing, Anal Sex, Hand Jobs, Cuddling & Snuggling, Innocence, Shota

Percival is roused by the sound of little feet on the bedroom floor, and a sniffle at the bedside.  The room is shrouded in darkness, the curtains drawn so that not even faint moonlight spills through, but when he cracks his eyes open he can just make out the shape of his little boy standing there hugging himself, too scared and shy to ask his daddy to wake up.

“Bad dream, baby?” he mumbles, tongue still heavy with sleep, and Credence nods.  His poor boy. He’s too young for all those nightmares. “You want to sleep with Daddy and Papa?”  Another nod, and Percival pulls the covers back so Credence can climb into his arms. “We’ve got you, baby boy, c’mere.”

The bed is soft and warm and Credence cuddles into it immediately, his little body snug against Percival’s and so completely trusting.  He clings, tiny hands holding on to Percival’s shoulders, little heart fluttering in his chest, legs wrapping around Percival’s waist. He wears only the loose nightshirt Percival had dressed him in before bed, which isn’t quite long enough to cover his plush little bum.

Percival wraps one arm across Credence’s back and uses the other to cradle his soft behind, and rolls them so that Credence is snuggled right between him and Gellert, caged in by their bodies.

Gellert stirs and grunts in his sleep, not yet realizing that their sweet boy has joined them.  Percival knows he won’t mind being woken up, not for Credence. The boy reaches for his papa, little hands grasping, tucking his nose into Gellert’s shoulder, and Gellert has an arm around him before he even really wakes.  He meets Percival’s gaze in the dark, surprised but pleased to wake up with an armful of baby boy, and his expression melts into a soft, hungry smile, bending his head to murmur in Credence’s ear. “Do you need Daddy and Papa to chase the nightmares away, sweet boy?”

Credence nods against him, and Percival knows that his little squirms have the same effect on Gellert as they do on him.  Credence looks so content snuggled between them, his Daddy at his back and his Papa at his front, safe and protected in their bed.

Gellert eases back, putting just enough space between them that he can duck down and place a kiss on Credence’s forehead.  Credence makes a quiet, happy noise, squirming back against Percival in search of body contact, while Gellert peppers him with kisses.  His cheeks, his nose, his chin, his lips - Credence is still learning how to kiss back, but the way he opens his mouth for Gellert’s tongue makes Percival’s cock twitch.

He plays with Credence’s bottom while they kiss, slow and sloppy.  He squeezes his plump cheeks, working a hand between his little legs so that he can press a finger right to that tiny hole and rub, adoring the way his baby sticks out his behind and relaxes so easily.  A quick grab for the tube on the bedside table and his fingers are nice and slick, sliding inside that tight baby channel and slowly working him open.

He presses tender kisses to the crook of his boy’s neck as he works himself inside, making Credence giggle and shiver with how his lips tickle.

Credence is panting into Gellert’s mouth by the time Percival is ready to press his cock inside, easing it into his body bit by bit.  His hole flutters at the intrusion, gripping his Daddy’s dick, and Percival groans. He knows it’s a lot for his boy to take, his little body stretching so wide; he’s slow and gentle, and when he’s finally fully seated with his hips flush to his boy’s bottom he just rocks, letting Credence feel him moving inside.

“How does it feel?” Gellert coaxes, and Credence whines softly.

“G-good, Daddy, good…”

“Do you like having Daddy in your bottom?”

“Uh-huh… ‘s good,  _ uh, _ in my tummy.”

Percival has to bite his lip on a moan, fisting a hand into the sheets to keep his hips slow and gentle and stop himself from pounding his boy into the mattress.

“But what about Papa?  Can Papa play too?”

Credence nods, eyes big and round, and Gellert takes his little hands and guides him down to his cock.  It takes both hands to wrap around his length, and the awe on his face as he grips it is beautiful. Gellert helps him start to stroke and then goes back to kissing him, open mouthed and filthy, while Credence moves his hands.  He’s clumsy and his strokes uneven, but he tries so hard to make his Papa feel good, his little brow creased in concentration. Gellert doesn’t seem to mind.

Percival is confident that by the time they’re done, nightmares will be the last thing on his baby boy’s mind.


	23. Grindelnewt - Scars, Master/slave, Size Difference

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 23 - Scars | Master/Slave | ~~Shibari~~ | Size Difference
> 
>  **Rape/Non-Con  
> **  
>  Chapter tags: Gellert Grindelwald/Newt Scamander, Scars, Master/slave, Marks, Objectification, Size Difference, Institutionalized Slavery

Newt squirms under the weight of his Master’s body, reveling in it.  Not for the first time he thinks how lucky he is - Theseus could have traded him off to anybody, but he chose Grindelwald, and now Newt’s life is bliss.

Master nips at his earlobe, the skin there delicate and sensitive, and Newt’s chains rattle when he presses up for more.  He doesn't remember how long he's been shackled to the bed, but really, does it matter? More important is Master, nibbling down his throat to his collar bone and biting at the thin, white scar that crosses it.

His body is speckled with such scars, collected during too-careless adventures chasing doxies and hinkypunks as a child.  He'd been reprimanded for each one, for marring his flesh and depreciating his body’s value, but Master _loves_ them.  He licks and sucks at them until the surrounding skin is pink and flushed, making his marks stand out all the brighter, and he'd added his own as well; sliced into his skin and worried at the cuts for days, weeks, ensuring that thick knots of scar tissue formed in just the right places.  And then he'd called Newt _beautiful._

Newt feels beautiful, laid out on the bed ripe for the taking, with Master’s hands pressing him into the mattress.  He shifts his hips, needy; however long it's been since he was last fucked is too long. His body cries out to be used, and it's so difficult with Master’s warmth blanketing him, close but yet so far from what he craves.  His hole twitches, loose and ready, and he whines.

“Slut,” Master says affectionately, and Newt preens.  He is a slut, and he’s ready for Master to take advantage of him.  He can feel Master’s hardening shaft against his thigh, sensitizing his skin and hot enough to make him melt into the mattress, yielding and pliant.

His own little prick stands up proud, drooling a messy puddle onto his belly.  He’s half the size of Master, slender and meek between his legs even when he’s brimming with arousal.  He likes it, and he knows that Master does too. His own cocklet can only twitch and leak fluids, but Master’s is thick enough to spread him open, long enough to reach his molten core, potent enough to fill him to dripping.

Newt spreads his legs, eager, and Master laughs.

In one quick movement Master flips him over, startling a delighted squeak out of Newt and making him bounce on the mattress before he’s deliciously trapped once more.  Newt fits beneath him so well, malleable to Master’s every desire. His hips fit right up against Newt’s arse, and his body responds without thought, arching his back in preparation for a deep fucking.

Master penetrates him in one smooth stroke, and when he bites the deep scar at the nape of his neck, his little cock spills onto the sheets.


	24. Goldgreenie - Pegging

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 24 - Pegging | ~~Leather | Lapdances | Shower/Bath~~
> 
>  **Rape/Non-Con  
> **  
>  Chapter tags: Queenie Goldstein/Percival Graves/Tina Goldstein, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Kissing, Cunnilingus, Pegging, Telepathy, First Time, Fem Dom

Percival isn’t really sure how it happened.  He’d been working late - as usual. Sorting through mountains of paperwork - as usual.  And Queenie had appeared at his office door with coffee - not usual, but very much appreciated.  He remembers thinking that she really was an angel, bringing him fresh coffee before she left for the night, and then…

Well, now he’s naked, paperwork all haphazardly shoved to the side so that there’s room for him to lay lengthwise across his own desk, and his mind is a soft, hazy cloud.

He feels nice.  His body feels nice.  The soft hands on his skin feel nice, and he moans as they caress him.  His nerves spark with pleasure everywhere he’s touched; his back, his waist, his inner thighs, all tingling pleasantly.  Someone’s petting his hair, manicured nails lightly scraping over his scalp, and it sends a blissful shiver down his spine.

“Oh Teenie, he loves it,” Queenie’s voice says, somewhere off to his left.  “You were right, I ain’t ever seen a guy take it so well. He’s adorable.”

Adorable…?  Is he?

“That’s right, sweetie.  You look so cute all soft like this.”

He doesn’t have time to decide how he feels about that before Tina’s face comes into view, her hand cupping his cheek.  “Our good boy,” she says, heat in her voice, and leans down to press a kiss to his lax lips.

Her plush lips feel perfect against his own, soft and full and tasting of lipstick.  Her tongue slipping into his mouth lights him up from the inside, and he parts his lips to let her deepen the kiss.  He’s been wanting to kiss her for a while now.

When she pulls back he whines.  Tina laughs at him, dragging her thumb across his bottom lip and patting his cheek consolingly.  “Don’t worry, the fun’s not over.”

Tina disappears from view and a moment later the desk rattles as Queenie climbs up, situating herself right in front of Percival.  Her skirt rides up, and he can’t help the way his eyes are drawn to the lacy edge of her panties. She giggles. “You like them, honey?”

He does.  He likes the lace and the way the soft pink silk clings to her, the promise of what’s underneath, the way her clothes seem to do more to tease than cover.

Queenie draws her hands up over her hips, lifting her skirt even more.  She hooks her thumbs into the waistband and slowly slips the thin fabric past her thighs, over her calves, down around one delicate ankle, and finally flicks them off entirely.  Percival’s breath catches. Her pale thighs are still pressed together, but she’s sitting bare in front of him and he _wants…_

She slides closer, opening her legs and cushioning his head against her thigh.  She smells sweet and musky, pink and pretty and glistening, and when she urges him on with a hand in his hair he doesn’t hesitate.

It feels so good to press his tongue into her folds, to hear her moan above him.  He laps at her with abandon, suckling messily, and her gasps of pleasure make him feel warm all over.

There’s a sound behind him, but he doesn’t let it distract him from his task.  He just enjoys the hands massaging his arse, spreading his legs wider where they hang over the edge of his desk, moans into Queenie’s folds when his cleft is spread open.

Something nudges against him from behind.  Something blunt and rubbery and cold with slick, and it feels so good when it rubs up and down between his cheeks, he’s never felt anything like it.  He’s never been played with back there, and the new sensation leaves him a shivery, sensitive mess.

“He - oh! - be gentle with him Teenie, he… _oh, oh yes - don’t stop sweetie -_ he ain’t, ah, ever done this before.”

“He’s a natural,” Tina murmurs, though at what Percival isn’t sure.  “Already opening up for me, his little hole’s just winking. He’ll take me so perfectly, I can tell.”

Percival still doesn’t really know what that means, but so long as he can keep lapping in Queenie’s soft flesh and Tina keeps rubbing his anus he really doesn’t care.

The blunt head of the toy shifts to tighter circles, pressing right against his aching rim.  He wants… he doesn’t know, but he needs more. His body craves something he can’t fathom, and he prays that Tina knows what to do.

She does.  The tip of the toy breaches him, slipping just inside his eager hole, and yes, _that’s_ what he needs.  He didn’t know it was possible, but he needs to be filled.  She takes hold of his hips, gripping tightly to hold him in place, and rocks her hips forward; fucking into him little by little, spreading him so deliciously wide as the inches of her cock sink into his body.  

He doesn’t know how long it is, but by the time her hips are pressed against his arse he can feel it bulging in his belly.  His own cock is trapped against the desk, the head poking out between his legs and drooling precome as it struggles and fails to rise.  He tries to shift, to take himself in hand or just find a position where he can get properly hard, but Tina and Queenie’s grip on him hardens like steel.

When Tina finally thrusts, his vision whites out with the pleasure.


	25. Thesival - Boot Worship, Olfactophilia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 25 - ~~Tickling | Scat~~ | Boot Worship | Olfactophilia (Scent)
> 
>  **Rape/Non-Con Elements  
> **  
>  Chapter tags: Theseus Scamander/Percival Graves, A/B/O, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Alternate Universe - Pornography, Filming, Objectification, Dehumanization, Extremely Dubious Consent, Boot Licking, Scent, Mating Instincts

Theseus shrugs off his robe and gives it to the stagehand, rolling his shoulders to stretch knotted muscles as he takes his place on set - his chair is the only piece of furniture save for the thick mattress, but it’s not as though anyone will be watching for the scenery.  The crew is still putting the finishing touches on the lighting, and though he's eager to get to the main event, he forces himself to be patient.

It's a good thing he has going for himself, and if he has to wait around every now and then, so be it; it comes with unlimited access to as much omega pussy as he wants, so long as he fucks whoever they put in front of him and lets them film it.  Not a bad deal. If he stays with the studio long enough it's even in his contract that he can pick one of them to mate, if he does the claiming on camera.

“Who do we have today?” he asks one of the assistants, and she glances up from her notes with a knowing look.

“Your favorite.”

Theseus frowns.  “Percy?”

“Yup.”

“He's not my favorite,” he protests on principle, but she just shakes her head and goes back to her clipboard.

“All right, let's get this moving,” the director shouts, and at last the buzz of activity settles down.

Theseus leans back in his chair and spreads his legs, adjusting his dick.  His clothes aren’t the most comfortable - heavy leather combat boots and military trousers left open at the front, showcasing his thick alpha cock - but they suit their purpose, and he doesn’t anticipate being in them for long anyway.

He strokes himself lazily for the camera, dick twitching in anticipation of having an eager little omega drooling for him soon.

There’s no mistaking when the omega is brought in; his scent rolls through the entire room, and Theseus growls low in his throat.  It is Percy, Theseus knows his scent even before he comes into view, all pale skin and big eyes, clouded over with an induced heat.  He’s delicious, irresistible, and Theseus’ cock grows hard in response. There’s a reason the crew is made up of betas; for an alpha to be locked in the same room with such a ripe omega and not fuck it would be pure torture.

Theseus doesn’t have that problem.

Percy’s eyes are fixed on him, glancing up only briefly before sliding straight down to his cock, mouth falling open in a cute little o-shape.

“On your knees and crawl,” his handler orders when Percy takes a step forward, and he obeys the command without his gaze so much as flickering from Theseus’ length.  He moves forward as though being reeled in, looking practically in a trance of heat and need. Theseus knows from experience that he’ll do whatever the fuck he’s told in order to get an alpha dick.  That’s part of what he likes about Percy - obedient to a fault.

Now that he’s closer Theseus can see how shallow his breathing is, the way his pupils are blown wide and dark, how his plush arse wiggles as he crawls.

He stops at Theseus’ feet and whines, seemingly caught between nosing in at Theseus’ balls and turning around to present that arse to be mounted.  

“What a fucking slut,” Theseus breathes.  The studio likes it when he talks - they like his accent - and that suits Theseus fine.  He always has had a mouth on him. “Look at you, bitch, you’re already dripping for my dick.”

He can smell it, sickly sweet like fruit gone soft and left in the sun, and another growl wells up from his throat at the thought of pressing his cock inside that quivering wet pussy.

That has Percy pressing his cheek to the ground in submission, arse still sticking up in the air, almost looking surprised when his body does it on instinct.

“Close up on the face,” someone is saying off-set, but Theseus doesn’t particularly care.  “Yeah, that’s it, now pan left and get his hole.”

“You think you’ve earned this dick?” Theseus asks.  “Show me how much you want it, you better convince me.  Use that tongue.”

For a moment he isn’t sure if Percy understands - omegas are slow like that - but then he lifts his head up and sticks out that cute little tongue, leaning in towards Theseus’ cock.  And god, that would feel amazing, but it will have to wait.

He grabs Percy by the back of the neck, startling a little squeak out of him and pushing his nose back down to the floor, shoving his face against the toe of his boot.

“Lick.”

Slut that he is, Percy darts out his tongue without hesitation, lapping and suckling at the leather as though trying to please it.  The sounds he makes are beautiful. He does a messy, desperate job, lathing the toe cap with saliva before turning his head to the side and licking along the arch, interspersing with sloppy kisses and little moans and whimpers.  The bitch loves it - he looks like he’s starving for it, arse wiggling while he devots himself to doing what Theseus orders, and a camera sweeps in to capture every filthy detail.

“Good boy, that’s my good little bitch,” Theseus praises, and he sees a shiver of pleasure run through Percy’s body.  The slut is so soft and pliant, such a dumb little thing so ripe for breeding, and Theseus doesn’t know how much longer he can wait to fuck that pussy; the scent rolling off him is intoxicating, exhilarating, and it’s a fucking shame that’s the one thing the camera can’t capture.  “Gonna fuck you so deep,” he says, voice a low rumble in his throat. “Slide inside that pussy and just -  _ fuck  _ \- I’ll fill you up with my cock until you cry, you want that?”

Percy trembles, still lavishing attention on Theseus’ boot, and he must just be the sweetest omega the studio owns.


	26. Grindelgraves - Roleplay, Toys

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 26 - ~~Lactation~~ | Roleplay | ~~Smiles/Laughter~~ | Toys
> 
>  **No Archive Warnings Apply  
> **  
>  Chapter tags: Gellert Grindelwald/Percival Graves, Dubious Consent, Dubious Consent Due To Identity Issues, Bottom Gellert Grindelwald, Toys, Plugs, Forced Eye Contact

Gellert just needs to relax.  It shouldn’t be too much to ask - he should be able to let go for an evening, set down the weight of the world and just  _ unwind. _  It’s exhausting, trying to save the world from itself.  Albus had understood that.

But Albus isn’t here, hasn’t been for decades, so Gellert has to make do.

“Look at me.”

Gellert looks up, meeting the heavy gaze of the man above him.  He could get lost in those eyes - has done, multiple times - brought back by the grip of his firm, steady hands pressing him into the mattress only be be swept away again by the gravel of his voice.  This isn’t something Gellert would trust to just anyone. In his younger days he’d allowed himself to be swayed by pretty faces he met at speakeasies, but to be truly satisfied he craves an equal. There aren’t many of those, but Percival Graves has proven himself to be an extraordinary man in many ways.

Gellert had helped him get past some of his inhibitions, yes, and it was more the pity that Percival wasn’t aware of who exactly he was bedding, but the rest of it - the dominance, the power, the drive, the way his voice  _ dripped  _ control - that was all Percival.

_ “Look.” _  A strong hand grips his chin, forcing his wayward gaze to focus.  “I’m going to take you apart tonight. I’ll make you scream, and you’re going to fucking love it.”

“Yes,” Gellert breathes, pulse quickening at the thought.  That’s what he’s here for. That’s what he  _ needs. _

Graves’ lips quirk up into a smirk, all too knowing, and Gellert flushes under him.  He squirms too, the wet heat in his arse taking up a growing part of his awareness; that was the first thing Graves did after getting him into bed, slipped something small and slick inside him with a whispered promise that he’d  _ like  _ it, and oh, Gellert is starting to understand.

It’s stretching him open, melting his core, because the thing is growing.  Slowly, inexorably, what had started out smaller than a finger has already expanded to two or three.  There’s no resisting it, nothing to do but feel it open him up from the inside. This way Graves can play with him, tease him, torment him to his heart’s content, and when he’s finally ready to fuck, Gellert’s body will be too.  Gellert doesn’t know what spell he used to make it feel so damningly good, like a soft warmth nestled in his belly, but he knows it’s clever.

It nearly breaks Gellert’s heart to think about obliviating him in the morning.


	27. Gradence - Exhibitionism, Degradation, Gun Play, Wall Sex

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 27 - Exhibitionism/Voyeurism | Degradation | Gun Play | Against a wall
> 
>  **Rape/Non-Con, Police Violence  
>  Chapter tags:** Credence Barebone/Percival Graves, Police Officer Percival Graves, Police Corruption, Police Violence, Abuse of Authority, Homophobic Language, Homophobic Slurs, Threats, Coercion, Degradation, Groping, Gun Play, Crying, Painful Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Wall Sex, Wetting, Humiliation, Anal Sex

“Come on, let’s go.”

Credence turns, startled by the heavy, gloved hand which has clamped down on his shoulder.  “I’m sorry, sir - officer,” he amends, taking in the man’s crisp uniform and the badge pinned to his belt, right next to his holstered gun.  The patch on his vest reads  _ P. Graves.   _ A flutter of fear sweeps through his chest.  The officer is broad, strongly built, his expression firm and unamused.  Credence was just handing out leaflets and he knows it’s a nuisance, but it’s not against the law.  He doesn’t know what he did wrong.

“Soliciting is illegal.  You need to come with me.”

Soliciting?  Credence’s brow creases in confusion, and he looks down at the leaflets in his hands.  “Oh - I’m not selling anything, officer, the leaflets are just for a meeting -”

“That’s not what I’m talking about.”  Graves’ eyes sweep over his body, and Credence feels the leer in his gaze.  His cheeks burn with shame, finally catching on to the implication. He doesn’t understand, does he really look like the kind of man who would…?

“I... n-no, I don’t -”

“No?  Then you won’t mind if I conduct a little search.”

“Search?” Credence asks, voice small.  His body wants to run, but he knows that’s the worst thing he could do.

“That’s right.  You whores always have condoms or drugs or some shit.  We can step off the street, I’ll give you a little pat down, and if you’re the good boy you claim to be you can go on your way.  Or, if you don’t want to play that way…” His eyes narrow, growing sharp and cruel. “I’ll cuff you, take you down to the station for a strip search, and throw you in the cells naked for the rest of our felons to do god-knows-what with while I take my sweet time drawing up the charges against you.  Your choice.”

Credence can’t breathe.  He can’t believe this is happening to him.  His throat has closed up, his heart is beating wildly, and he can’t think over the rushing in his head.  He just nods, mute and trembling.

“Yeah.  That’s what I thought.”

Graves’ grip on his bicep is painful as he’s pulled into an alley off the street.  His feet move automatically, mind numb, and though he tries to keep up he trips and stumbles into the rough brick wall when Graves gives him a shove.  It winds him, leaving him painfully lightheaded, leaflets spilling from his arms to litter the ground at their feet.

“Hands up,” Graves orders, and Credence complies.  He presses his palms flat to the wall, trying to use it to steady himself, but it feels as though the ground is tilting sideways.  A rough hand presses into the middle of his back, pinning him in place.

Something cold and hard presses into the nape of his neck, and Credence freezes.  His heart is going to beat out of his chest.

“Uh huh, you won’t be any trouble,” Graves says, stroking the barrel of his gun along the side of Credence’s throat.  “Fag like you.”

Ice washes through Credence’s veins.  He closes his eyes and rests his forehead against the filthy wall.  His lungs still won’t work right, and the edges of his vision have gone a dull grey.

Graves touches him everywhere; hands run down his sides, his back, over his hips and ass - Graves squeezes, kicking his legs apart.  “Filthy slut,” he sneers, and Credence wants to protest that he’s not, he’s not a slut or a whore or a fag, but the only thing on his lips is a choked-off sob.  Graves’ left hand reaches around to grab his crotch, cupping and fondling his soft dick through his pants, and with his other hand he presses his gun between Credence’s legs, nestling the muzzle right behind his balls.

The hard metal takes up his entire focus.  He doesn’t dare resist, doesn’t protest anything; the terror is a solid mass congealing in his chest.

“You know,” Graves says conversationally, “some fags get hard from this.  They fucking love it, drives ‘em wild to feel gunmetal between their legs.  Some of the bitches start begging to be fucked about now. But you…” Graves rocks the gun against him, pressing it into his soft flesh, and when he speaks again it’s a low growl against Credence’s ear.  “You’re a special kind of fag, a real fucking whore. Yeah. You hate it, but you’re too much of a pathetic, sniveling slut to stop me. You’re gonna let me do whatever I fucking want.” Credence can feel Graves’ smirk, and his skin crawls having the man pressed so close against his back.  “Aren’t you?”

Credence nods frantically, tears rolling down his cheeks.  “Y-yes sir - officer - sir, please, a-anything you want.” He spreads his legs wider, trying to show his submission, and Graves laughs.  The next thing Credence knows Graves’ hands are on his belt, gun gone, and with a few quick tugs he pushes Credence’s pants and underwear halfway down his thighs, exposing his bare ass right there in the alley.

Graves’ fingers dig into his flesh, spreading him open and stroking a thumb over his tight pucker, and the drag against his tender rim hurts; his stomach lurches with the humiliation of being looked at there.  He yelps when something cold and slippery drips down his ass, prompting a harsh laugh from Graves.

“Trust me, fag, you should be on your knees with gratitude that I decided to spend a packet of lube on you.  Coulda raped your hole dry.”

Without ceremony or hesitation Graves plunges two fingers deep into his body.  Credence’s scream is cut off by the gloved hand which clamps over his mouth, reducing him to whimpers, ragged breaths, and choked sobs while he’s stretched, those thick fingers pumping in and out of him, his hole spasming in protest.  It’s an awful, gut-wrenching feeling. He holds still and takes it.

“Keep your fucking mouth shut,” Graves snaps.  “You want an audience while you’re raped? Maybe that’s the kind of fag you are… you want them lining up to fuck you after I’m done.”

The terror is an all consuming buzz in Credence’s mind, numbing his thoughts and paralyzing his body.  He just takes pained breaths, and doesn’t respond.

Graves pulls his fingers out too quickly, making his insides burn, but they’re quickly replaced by the fat head of Graves’ cock.  Credence can’t think, he can’t breathe - nothing makes sense anymore, and he’s left with only the searing burn as he’s speared on Graves’ cock.  He sags against the wall, held up only by Graves’ weight pressed his back and the brutal snaps of his hips, shoving him painfully against the unforgiving brick.

He’s being fucked in an alley by a stranger, and all he can do is take it.  It doesn’t feel real, even as each thrust makes him feel like he’s being torn in half.  Graves’ penetrates him so deeply it’s as though his insides are being rearranged, hollowed out to make a space for his dick.  Surely he’ll never be the same after this, his body will never go back to how it was before, he’s for fucking now, Graves is turning him into a fag and a whore -

His entire body gives in, muscles going slack in Graves’ arms, and on a particularly hard thrust he feels his bladder release.  Hot piss runs down his legs, soaking his pants where they’re bunched around his thighs, and tears of humiliation stream down his cheeks.  Graves fucks every last drop out of him.

At long last Graves slams in for the last time, groaning while he pumps load after load of come into Credence’s ass.  He steps back with a satisfied sigh and Credence falls, crumpling under his own weight. He just lays there unseeing on the filthy ground, pants around his knees, soaked with piss, ass leaking come.  He trembles.

Above him Graves is putting his uniform back in order, slow and unhurried.  Credence feels his gaze once more, and he curls in on himself, cowering against the wall.

“Yeah,” Graves drawls.  “Not a bad fuck. If you weren’t a whore before, you sure will be now.”

His footsteps echo on the pavement as he walks away.


	28. Grindelbone - Omorashi, Humiliation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 28 - Omorashi | ~~Stripping/Striptease | Vore~~ | Humiliation
> 
>  **Rape/Non-Con Elements  
>  Chapter tags:** Gellert Grindelwald/Credence Barebone, Kneeling, Cockwarming, Magical Bondage, Watersports, Piss Drinking, Humiliation, Dehumanization, Wetting

Credence shivers in the slight chill which pervades the room, trying to ignore the ache in his knees.  He wants to lash out, to beg, to run, but he can’t; all he can do is kneel between Grindelwald’s thighs, his limbs unnaturally numb and heavy from whatever spell he’d used, focusing with everything he has on keeping control of his body while he drools around Grindelwald’s thick, soft cock resting on his tongue

Credence had tried to be good, to obey and submit, but it wasn’t enough.  Grindelwald wanted Credence to accept his new place, to learn that he could be made to do anything, at any time, and Credence is used to people hurting him but at least then he’d felt like a person.  Now… he isn’t so sure.

Grindelwald sighs, releasing another hot stream of piss down Credence’s throat, and he swallows it all down on reflex while his cheeks burn with shame, his body unable to do anything else.  He doesn’t know how much more he can hold. His muscles are already cramping with the effort of holding it in, all of the willpower he has left concentrated on holding back the pressure in his bladder.  But it keeps growing. It’s painful by now, and with his body numbed as it is he can’t even squirm. He wants release so badly, and he’s already let Grindelwald do so much to him, but he can’t let go - the thought makes him sick.  He can’t explain why this is so much worse than everything else, but he would rather take a week’s lashings than wet himself with Grindelwald’s piss.

That’s probably why Grindelwald decided to do it; he’d found the one thing which could still get a fight out of Credence.

He groans, pained and desperate.  The waistband of his pants is cutting into him, making the pressure worse, because yes, Grindelwald had taken his shirt but left him his pants.  At first Credence had thought is was a strange mercy. Now he isn’t sure. He’s certain that if he looked down his belly would be distended; it burns, and he can practically feel his muscles trembling, but he won’t,  _ he won’t - _

He feels a spasm in his gut, and for a terrible, overwhelming moment his control slips.  He clamps down again, hard, but not before a small, damp patch appears at his crotch. He wants to cry, but he doesn’t know if it’s from the humiliation of losing control, the relief of the pressure easing slightly, or the frustration of forcing himself to stop.

It only gets harder after that.  Each second takes an eternity to pass, and all he can feel is the deep, burning ache.  He has no concept of how long it takes, but eventually his overworked muscles just… give in.  He tries to stop it even as he feels the first spurt of warmth between his legs, but now that his muscles have slackened he can’t force them contract any longer.  He can’t do anything but sit there as warm piss soaks his crotch, runs down the insides of his thighs, and splashes into a puddle on the floor.

And, God help him, it feels amazing.  The relief as the pressure inside him eases is pure bliss, washing away the pain that had taken hold of his body, and it just goes on, and on, and on, his exhausted muscles reveling in finally resting and his bladder in being relieved of the strain.  The flood slows to a trickle, his dick dribbling out the last few drops of piss, and at long last Grindelwald takes his cock from Credence’s mouth.

Fatigue hits him like a physical thing.  Grindelwald leans forward, cupping Credence’s cheek and wiping away his tears while the soaked fabric of Credence’s pants starts to grow cold and clammy against his skin.

“Do you understand now?” he asks, gentle.

Credence thinks he does.


	29. Gramandercest - Double Penetration, Sleepy Sex, Massage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 29 - ~~Glory hole~~ | Double (Or more) Penetration | Sleepy Sex | Massage
> 
>  **No Archive Warnings Apply  
> **  
>  Chapter tags: Theseus Scamander/Newt Scamander/Percival Graves, Sibling Incest, Mutually Dubious Consent, A/B/O, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Protective Theseus Scamander, Nipple Play, Massage, Mating Instincts, Sleepy Sex, Double Penetration

Theseus shuts the door, leaving Newt to rest and giving himself a reprieve from the almost sickly sweet scent that fills the spare bedroom.  It was bad luck - a quirk of timing, really - that Theseus ended up host to his brother and his best friend at the same time. Not that he minded either if them, or both of them; no, the current dilemma was that Newt had wandered in for a visit and promptly gone into heat.  Theseus doesn't quite understand how Newt lost track of something like that, but there isn't much to do now other than let him sleep it off, and try to ignore the soft moans and sweet scent coming from the other side of the door.

Theseus rejoins Percival in the sitting room, and he wonders if he has the same hungry, slightly agitated look in his eye that his friend does.  Probably - there was a reason omegas usually took care of their heats themselves, or found a beta to help them, rather than running straight into the arms of two alphas and melting into a puddle of intoxicating pheromones.   _What had Newt been thinking?_

“Your brother…” Percival starts, gruff.  “Your brother smells good.”

It's an understatement.  Theseus just look at him, and nods.  “Yeah,” he agrees.

They stand like that for a moment more, before Percival makes a visible effort to shake himself from his daze, and Theseus takes a breath to clear his head.  It's going to be a long night.

It probably would have been fine, if Theseus hadn't always been a worrier when it came to his little brother.  He and Percival pass the rest of the evening in amiable conversation, share a couple drinks, and do their best to put the tantalizing omega down the hall out of their minds.  It almost worked. It would have worked, but Theseus can't let himself go to bed without making sure Newt is okay.

When he opens the bedroom door the scent hits him like a physical thing, sweet and ripe and so damningly familiar, drawing him across the room to Newt’s bedside.  He's naked, the blankets all crumpled and pushed to one side of the bed. Theseus hadn't left him that way, but he supposes he shouldn't be surprised. Theseus sits beside him and Newt stirs, opening his eyes and blinks up at him, eyes glassy and face slack.  He looks exhausted, drifting at the edge of consciousness, and no wonder - all of his body’s energy is being funneled into making him _ready._

Theseus should leave.  He should walk out the door, close it behind him, and find a beta to call for help, because he knows exactly what will happen if he stays.

“Hey, buddy,” he says, voice soft as he brushes a damp lock of hair from Newt’s flushed forehead.  “How are you feeling?”

Newt squirms, face creasing.  “Hurts.”

Theseus frowns.  “Hurts? Are you in pain?”  If there's pain something could be wrong, Newt could need a healer, he could be sick -

Newt shakes his head.  “It - it - need it. Need it too much.  It _aches,_ Thes.”

Theseus’ concern melts into sympathy.  “I know,” he says, lost in Newt’s big, wet eyes.  His body is limp, head lolling on the pillow, and Theseus - Theseus -

Newt reaches out for him and squeezes his hand, tugging weakly to place Theseus’ palm over his pectoral.  The skin is tight and swollen under his hand, hot to the touch, and when Theseus rubs his thumb back and forth Newt sighs deeply.

“Does that feel good?”  Newt nods, eyes falling closed.  

“You want me to keep going?”  Another nod. And yeah, Theseus can do that.  Not a problem.

He shifts to get a better angle, cupping Newt’s chest with both hands and marvelling how good it feels to touch his smooth skin.  Before he even knows it his thumbs are massaging little circles, starting out gently but working up to a deeper pressure when Newt just seems to melt under the attention, lips parting on a breath which might have been a moan.

Theseus presses with the heels of his hands, finds Newt’s nipples with his thumbs and rubs deep circles over them, easing the pressure in his neglected chest.  He finds each line of muscle and follows it, pausing to work whichever spots make Newt moan and squirm, returning at last to squeeze his swollen, pink nipples. They're puffed up between his fingertips, hot and tight and just waiting for someone to play with them, so Theseus does.

Movement at the corner of his eye makes him look up.  Percival is there in the open doorway, looking caught, terrible indecision written across his face.

“It's okay, Perce,” Theseus says softly.  “I think he needs us.”

Percival is drawn across the room as though by an invisible line, taking a seat on the other side of Newt’s bed and reaching for him with only the barest hesitation.  His hand falls on Newt’s stomach, and he shakes his head in disbelief. “He's gorgeous.”

He is, and Theseus watches as Percival traces a circle into his belly, soft and a little plump, just like an omega should be.  Newt shifts towards it, spreading his legs when Percival’s hand starts to wander downwards. His fingers trail over flushed skin, lower, diverting only at the last moment to stroke the inside of his thigh rather than his little cock.

“Ohhh,” Newt breathes.  “Please, please…”

So they do.  Theseus’ hands move of their own accord to strip off his shirt and trousers, his underwear, suddenly overcome with the need to feel Newt’s skin against his own.  He’s hard, he realizes, suddenly aware of the ache in his balls and his straining, impatient cock, brought to attention by being so near an omega.

He knows exactly what he’s doing as he gathers Newt into his arms, but try as he might he can’t make it feel wrong.  Newt is his little brother, and he needs Theseus’ help. It just so happens that helping him also feels _amazing._

Newt stays loose limbed and limp, leaving it to his alphas to position him how they like.  And bloody Merlin, there’s something about having a dazed, pliant omega in his arms that’s unlike anything else in the world.  With surprising synchronicity Theseus and Percival lift him; Theseus slides beneath him, settling Newt down to lay on his chest, head on his shoulder, legs spread wide and straddling his lap.  His cock rises right against Newt’s dripping hole, and it makes Theseus’ breath catch.

Percival slides in tight behind him, leaning over Newt’s back to mouth down his spine, making Newt squirm and clutch at Theseus’ shoulders in response.

They have their omega between them, safe and ready.

“We've got you,” Theseus murmurs, almost reverent.  “We've got you.” He cradles the back of Newt’s head, holding him close, and presses a kiss into his messy hair.  Newt clings to him, so needy, so vulnerable, and Theseus loves him to the depths of his soul.

He can't see what Percival is doing, but he can feel the response in Newt’s body - the tremor that runs through his muscles, his small gasps, the way his soft cock, trapped between them, leaks out a messy little puddle.

Theseus reaches down to press the head of his cock inside Newt’s desperate hole, and there’s nothing like the warmth and softness of his insides.  Newt’s body shifts down to take it fully, probably without any conscious effort, opening up gorgeously so that Theseus can penetrate him deeply. Newt is so tight yet yielding; his body clinging to Theseus’ cock and trying to pull him deeper.

And then there’s a different sort of pressure - something squeezing in alongside him, sliding against his shaft and stretching Newt so wonderfully tight around him.  Theseus looks up, meeting Percival’s gaze over Newt’s shoulder, and sees his own lust reflected back at him.

They thrust into their omega together, deep and thorough, making Newt twitch and cry when his cock dribbles out thin omega come.


	30. Newtina - Stockings, Breast Worship

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 30 - ~~Gagging~~ | Stockings/Tights/Pantyhose | Breast Worship | ~~Swallowing~~
> 
>  **No Archive Warnings Apply  
>  Chapter tags:** Tina Goldstein/Newt Scamander, Dubious Consent, Gentle Sex, Stockings, Kisses, Desk Sex, Fem Dom, Oral Sex, Breast Worship, Bribery

“That’s it,” Tina gasps, “oh,  _ yes  _ -”

She hadn’t intended to let Mr Scamander off the hook on his permits in exchange for certain  _ very _ pleasurable favors, but, well.  He’d offered. And really, a missing wand permit wasn’t exactly the crime of the century.  She might as well get something out of this assignment.

Scamander kisses the inside of her knee, stroking one hand down her calf to slip her shoe off and caress her ankle.  It sends a tingling warmth along her nerves, feeling surprisingly good, and with a deep sigh of relaxation she leans back on her desk.

His fingers trace down the thin fabric of her stocking, following the weave of the fabric and the soft curve of her calf, stroking up, down, up again, slowly placing light kisses up her inner thigh.  She adjusts to spread her legs wider, kicks off her other shoe, her whole body singing with pleasure and anticipation. This is what she’s needed, what she’s been missing and aching for. It’s been too long since she’s felt such gloriously soft touches on her skin.

His fingers find the top of her stocking, peeling it back to kiss her bare flesh, and Tina moans.  The softness of his lips makes her melt, swept away by how tender he is. She hadn’t really known what to expect, but this - being slowly undressed while her body is worshipped, every desire catered to - this is more than she could have hoped for.

Scamander’s lips have found the crease of her thigh, and she trembles in anticipation.  Her skirt has ridden up around her hips, one thigh rests on Scamander’s shoulder, and she’s so wet she can feel her entrance start to leak.  His lips are so very close, scarcely an inch away, and mercy lewis she  _ wants. _

“Yes, go on -”

Newt kisses her right through her panties, lips just above her clit, and Tina throws her head back and moans.  Her pussy tingles with heat. 

“Oh, Mr Scamander!”

She’s wet and throbbing, and she digs her heel into Newt’s back to pull him closer.  He complies easily, one hand sliding up to caress her hip while he mouths at her pussy through the soft fabric, and she can’t imagine how good it will feel with her panties out of the way.  He has such a talented mouth, a bit awkward when used for talking but so very good at kissing. His lips and tongue have found their way down to her opening, tasting the damp fabric, and she can’t take it anymore - she’s going to come if he continues, and they’ve only just gotten started.

Her fingers tangle into his unruly hair to tug him upwards and he takes it in stride, kissing her mound, her stomach, nosing at the underside of her breast; his hands guide her to lay back, and nimbly free the buttons on her blouse.

Lips brush Tina’s nipple.  It pebbles up under the attention, and when Scamander’s tongue swirls around it a heat blooms in her breast, spreading out from her hard nipple and sinking through to her very core.  He worships her with lips and tongue, not allowing a hint of teeth to touch her skin, warm hands coaxing her into absolutely melting against the desk. He massages her breasts expertly, and she’s too deep in bliss to wonder how he became such a skilled lover.

All she’s certain of is that she would, without regret, make this bargain again.


	31. Percival Graves - Somnophilia, Ghost Sex, Mpreg, Mind Break

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 31- Somnophilia | Ghost Sex | Mpreg | Mind Break
> 
>  **Rape/Non-Con  
>  Chapter tags:** Percival Graves/A Ghost, Somnophilia, Haunted House, House Elves, Sleep Paralysis, Sex Dreams, Wet Dreams, Non-Corporeal Entity, Ghost Sex, Paranoia, Mind Break, Mpreg, Mind Control

The Graves Manor has stood for centuries.  Not the one in New York - that one, the home where Percival grew up, is as recent as everything else in America.  Built by those dead and gone, yes, but whose names are still remembered.

It is the manor in the Old World which Percival now visits, his by right though he has only seen it a handful of times, nearly lost to the distorted memories of childhood.  It had been a castle rising from the mists, a portal to the nether realm, a breathing force which had welcomed him home and threatened never to release him.

It it a house, albeit a grand one.  To call it a castle would be generous, though an easy mistake for an American child to make.  Even still, Percival cannot help but see an echo of that majesty as he approaches. The manor is well staffed even in the absence of any residents, maintained by house elves as well as a number of paid staff.  It wouldn’t do to let the ancestral home fall to ruin, even if only for posterity’s sake. As such it is immaculate upon his arrival. The stone floors shine, the entry hall is lit with hundreds - thousands? - of floating candles, and fires are lit in every room.  It’s clear that quite an effort has been made for his arrival, though when he’d sent word he was coming he’d asked them not to. He’s only staying for a week, just long enough to put in order the long neglected business which only he, as the master of the estate, can attend to.  The Graves line has no other direct heirs, or he would gladly have passed the task on; there is a whole collection of second cousins, plenty of people to inherit, but until they do the maintenance of the family legacy falls squarely on his shoulders.

“Welcome home, Lord Graves,” the steward greets him, and Percival does his best not to blink at the unfamiliar title which he does, technically, hold.  “Dinner will be served at half past, or sooner, if you desire it. May I show you to your rooms, so that your lordship can rest before the meal?”

“Thank you, Mr Bradshaw,” Percival agrees.  Merlin, but he’s not used to these ranks and formalities.  Not for the first time he thinks how glad he is that his stay will be short.

The room is well prepared and luxurious, dinner practically a feast, but by the end of it he’s more than happy to retire to bed.  The day of travel from London took its toll, and he all but melts into the mattress. The pillows are fluffed, the blankets warm and heavy, the sheets blissfully soft, and for once insomnia doesn’t plague him.

 

  


 

The next morning he wakes to thin sunlight filtering through the windows, warm and comfortable in bed.  He sighs, stretches - and feels something strangely damp against his belly. He frowns. His hand finds something tacky and drying against his skin, and when he lifts the covers to look his stomach is streaked with come.

It’s been years since he’s had a wet dream, not since he was a much younger man.  A twinge of embarrassment passes through him, and with a quick wave of his hand he cleans both himself and the sheets, removing any trace of evidence for when the house elves come to make the bed.

He can’t help but feel a little cheated that he doesn’t even remember the dream.

He puts it out of his mind as he dresses for breakfast.  The day is spent familiarizing himself with the estate’s affairs, speaking with Bradshaw, and reading more paperwork than crosses his desk at MACUSA.  This trip is overdue, he knows. If he’d come sooner there would be less to sort through. He’s brought this upon himself in a way, but it doesn’t make the chore any less tedious.

Falling into bed at the end of the day is a welcome respite, and that night he does remember his dreams.

He’s laying on his back, unable to move.  His muscles simply don’t respond, weighted down with a leaden heat which makes it impossible to tense or twitch.  And there’s something - no, someone - above him. A presence, pressing down on his chest as he lays trapped there, and so very, very heavy.  He can’t open his eyes to see it.

It should be a nightmare, but it’s… not.  He isn’t afraid. His heart doesn’t thunder in his chest.  He just lays there and accepts it, body tingling with erotic heat as the pressure spreads and increases.  The presence is innately sexual, and his body responds. The tingling grows, centering in his nipples and groin, his cock curving up eagerly over his belly even though he can’t move to stroke it.  The heat just builds and builds until he wants to beg for release, for friction, he needs to come so bad -

He doesn’t remember the orgasm, but the sheets are wet again when he wakes.  For the briefest moment after opening his eyes he feels the most all-consuming sense of calm, his whole body soft and weak, and he’s certain that he’s exactly where he needs to be.

The feeling ebbs along with the memories of the dream, growing cloudy and drifting from his mind until all he remembers are whispers of sensation, and he only ponders it a moment more before putting it out of his head entirely.

 

  


 

The next night starts the same way - the presence, the heavy weight - only this time he’s on his stomach, feeling the weight against his back and hips.  He isn’t entirely sure when he becomes aware of it, just that his body welcomes it back, and he relaxes into it as the heat returns, making his nipples itch with need and his cock fail to harden where it’s trapped against the mattress.

But it doesn’t matter if he can’t get hard, because it feels so  _ good. _  He leaks a little trickle of precome onto the sheets and his genitals feels so warm, he’s in absolute bliss.  The heat coalesces in his ass, rising from a smolder to a blaze with such intensity that it makes his mind go fuzzy.  If he could move he would be keening, bucking his hips and clutching at the sheets; but he can’t move, so he lays motionless and takes it as the heat sinks into him, settling deep in his belly.  It doesn’t thrust or pulse, it just rests inside him, and he feels complete as the warmth suffuses through his body.

 

  


 

He’s come to expect the damp, sticky sheets in the mornings, but what he doesn’t expect - doesn’t understand - is the slippery substance which oozes from his ass when he rolls over.

He freezes, going cold at the feeling.  That’s not right. How is it possible? He doesn’t want to move, to feel the slime deep in his guts, but he has to know.  He swallows hard, and reaches one hand back between his legs.

His fingers come away coated in something thick and white, and he wants to retch.  What the fuck, what - wasn’t it a dream? Something was here with him, preying on him in his sleep, while he  _ enjoyed it. _

He has to get out.

He throws back the blankets, and though his stomach turns horribly when he stands and the slime runs down his thighs, he doesn’t stop on the way to the bathroom.  He washes himself until the water runs cold, until his rim is chafed and sore, until every last trace of the vile substance is gone from his body and he almost can’t feel the memory of it.

He dresses quickly, in more layers than he needs for the temperature of the manor, and flees the room.

“Mr Bradshaw!” he calls, taking the stairs to the study two at a time, and sending a house elf scurrying out of his way.  He finds him quickly, not sparing time for a greeting. “Mr Bradshaw, I have urgent business in New York. Make the travel arrangements immediately and inform me when it’s done.”  He can’t bring himself to care about the surprise that flashes across Bradshaw’s face, or how harsh his words may have been. He needs to leave. He never should have come.

“Of course, Lord Graves.  I’ll do it forthwith.”

Percival nods, dismissive, and when Bradshaw leaves he locks the study door behind him.  He can only hope that the solid oak will be some good against whatever it is that - that - his mind gets stuck on the word, and he turns abruptly to the stacks of papers on the desk.  He’ll conclude his business here and put an ocean between himself and this house, family legacy be damned.

Bradshaw returns an hour later with a ticket back to London for the morning, and passage booked on a ship.  There was no sooner train. Graves takes the news with a grim nod, the relief at having a way out darkened by the heavy dread of spending another night in this twisted place.

“Sir,” Bradshaw asks, tone hesitant.  “Forgive the question, but… are you quite all right, Lord Graves?”

“Of course.”  Percival waves him off, unable to fathom where that conversation might go.  Either Bradshaw has no idea of the horrors that lurk in this house, or he knows all too well.  Either way, he’s no help whatsoever. “MACUSA business. Excuse me now, I’ll see to the remaining affairs.”

Percival throws himself into the work, as much to keep his mind occupied and stave off thoughts of the night as to accomplish anything.  He suddenly cares very little about what happens to the estate, the Graves name, or the inheritance. It can all be damned.

He works through the day, pausing only for meals brought to him in the study.  He’s warded the room as best he can, and he has no desire to leave it. He doesn’t know what he’s facing, he doesn’t know if it will help, but it’s better than leaving himself completely exposed.

He resolves to work through the night, unwilling to submit to the vulnerability of sleep.  Even when his eyes burn and his head aches he keeps the lamps burning. When the words on the pages blur beyond recognition he retreats into the armchair and keeps his wand at the ready.  He won’t be taken unawares.

 

  


 

He doesn’t know whether he truly succumbed to sleep.  All he knows is that the room is dark, and his body is so very, very heavy.  His breathing is slow, steady. His heartbeat is strong in his chest even though he can’t move a muscle of his own accord.  The familiar warmth returns to his groin, sinking into his ass as though he weren’t still fully clothed, and he melts for it.  He’s being filled again, filled to brimming, just like he should have been from the start, and it’s  _ wonderful. _

But as much as he would have liked it, the heat doesn’t stay in his ass.  It spreads out, flowing through him and briefly lighting up his whole body before it starts to gather again.

It feels just as good in his mind as it did in his ass.  The pressure in his head is intense but not painful, melting away his thoughts as it grows.  Gradually, everything starts to make sense. This is what he’s for. This is right. He should never have been afraid.

Something gives in his mind and it feels better than any orgasm.

 

  


 

He is well rested in the morning, despite having slept upright in the armchair, and fully dressed at that.  Silly thing to do, really, but his body feels so nice it’s hard to care. He can tell at once that his ass is full, putting comfortable pressure against his insides and leaking a little damp spot into the seat of his pants.  He really should sleep naked from now on.

He clenches his ass when he stands, not wanting to lose a single drop of that precious fluid, and after casting around the room for a moment selects a paperweight to transfigure into a plug.  He makes it nice and thick, stripping down his pants to press it inside and moaning when he does so. It’s vitally important to keep the fluid in his body, and now he doesn’t have to worry. It’s a relief.

Before dressing again he takes a moment to admire the little bloat it makes in his belly, right where his children will soon grow.

When he leaves the study, it’s with a lightness to his step which he hasn’t felt for a long time.

“Good morning, Mr Bradshaw!” he says, finding the man in the middle of his breakfast.

“Ah, Lord Graves.  I’ve arranged for a carriage to take you to the station, it will leave at your convenience.”

Graves frowns.  Why did he want to leave again?  “Cancel it. Cancel all the arrangements.  In fact, have my things sent from New York, and let the staff know I’ll be staying.”

He doesn’t know why Bradshaw looks so shocked.  It’s as though a terrible burden has been lifted from him.  He knows his purpose now - continuing the Graves line is his most important task, and the way to accomplish it is to stay here and be bred.

He’ll send his resignation to MACUSA by owl.  They’ll understand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who's followed along on this wonderful, kinky journey! It was a great opportunity for me to explore and create, and I can only hope that you enjoyed reading it as much as I did writing it.
> 
> I'm planning to expand some of these stories into proper fics over the next months, but I haven't decided which ones yet. If there are any you'd like to see more of, please do let me know - reader preference will absolutely be taken into account.
> 
> Until then, thank you all and Happy Halloween!


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